


The Once and Future Queen

by geekogecko (Jedijae)



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama & Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-02 14:44:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10946670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jedijae/pseuds/geekogecko
Summary: A kingdom searching for an heir. A witness ready to talk. A PI with an anonymous client. A failed hit attempt, and Anna and Elsa are on the run, police and villains in hot pursuit. Can they learn to trust each other enough to survive a plot that threatens Arendelle's very existence?Modern AU. M for language, violence, adult content.





	1. The Worst of All Snares

“Hail to the King!”

The drunken chorus followed Eric as he staggered out of the Fish and Barrel tavern onto the rain-slicked sidewalk.  He turned to wave at his loyal subjects, but almost crashed to the pavement when his companion failed to turn with him.  The buxom brunette, already teetering on four-inch heels and her balance compromised by too many vodka shots, collided with him, squashing her chest against his.  He reached out to steady her, managing to get both hands on her breasts.  When she giggled, he took it as tacit permission and pushed her up against the outside wall of the pub, squeezing and stroking, enjoying her breathless moans. 

“Are you really going to be king?” she asked, her eyes heavy-lidded and glazed under the harsh light of the streetlamps.

“Oh yesh.  I have the bloodline,” Eric slurred out.  He snaked his hands under her blouse and pushed her bra aside, fondling her nipples as he pressed his hips against hers.  “Jus’ waitin’ for all the veri-..verif…paperwork.”

She slid her fingers along the front of his pants.  “Something king-sized in here,” she simpered.  She worked his zipper open and slipped her hand in to grasp him.

“…Should make you my queen...”  Eric bit and sucked her neck as she stroked him.

“Not here, though,” she said, nipping at his ear. 

“Right, right,” he rasped, pulling back from her.  Even through his alcohol-and-lust-induced fog, Eric recognized that screwing her up against the wall of a tavern on a public street was not proper behavior for a royal.  And it was probably illegal too.  He took a few deep breaths to try and clear his head.  He’d have to take her somewhere. 

But where?  His guesthouse was only a few blocks from the Fish and Barrel, but this wasn’t the best part of the city, and his rooms, which overlooked the fishing wharves lining the harbor, hardly fit his image of himself as royalty.  He still didn’t understand why the Chamberlain’s Office wouldn’t arrange for him to stay at one of luxury hotels near the Castle while they verified his claim.

 _I am gonna be King, after all_ , he thought.  _It’s not like the bill won’t get paid eventually_.

He adjusted himself inside his pants and zipped his fly while the brunette - what was her name again? - straightened her clothing.  Then he offered her his arm and his most charming smile.  “Let’s go to my hotel.”

“You’re not staying in the Castle?” she asked, her bottom lip pooching out in pouty disappointment.

 _No, you stupid cow, I’m not King yet_.  Out loud he said, “Not yet.  Once everything is official, I’ll move to the Castle.  For now, I’m at the Royale.”  That was a total lie, but Eric figured he could bluster his way into Arendelle City’s most exclusive hotel.  He wasn’t King – yet - but he was _Baron_ Eric Solholm of Grøntfjell, and his title should be good for _something_.

Even if the holder of that title was completely and utterly broke.

“Oooh!” the brunette squealed. “That’s almost as good!”  She looped her hand around his bicep and pressed her breasts against him as they walked away from the pub.  Eric thought he had enough cash to get a cab to the Arendelle Royale – he hadn’t paid for a single drink all evening at the Fish and Barrel – and his credit card would get him into the hotel. 

Given King Haldor’s current health, Eric might be on the throne by the time the bill came due.

They turned up the alley next to the pub, making their way toward the main boulevard, staggering from both the alcohol and their attempts to kiss as they walked.  Eric grunted as her tongue slid from his mouth and along his jaw to finally wind up in his ear.  They banged against a dumpster, giggling madly.  He pawed at her again, enjoying the feel of the large, soft breasts under her blouse. 

A gloved hand flashed out from the shadows of the dumpster and yanked the woman away.  Her scream died abruptly as the unseen assailant flung her headfirst against the opposite wall of the alley.  She crumpled into a heap at the base of the wall and lay still.

“What the fu – !?“ 

 Eric whirled to run, but his back slammed up against the dumpster, a hard forearm pressing against his throat, cutting off his air.  Spots swam in his vision.  He grabbed at the arm, fingers scrabbling for a grip against smooth fabric.  The pressure increased.  Eric thrashed wildly, panicking as he fought for breath. 

“Imposter,” a voice hissed in his ear.  Through his dimming vision, Eric caught a glimpse of cold green eyes, a glint of moonlight off metal.  Something hard and cold pressed against his temple.  “Whatever made you think you could be King?”

 

*****************

 

The meeting took place in what appeared to be an unused vault below the basement of the Arendelle National Bank.  Metal shelves and safe-deposit boxes lined the foyer behind the thick steel door, whose old-fashioned combination lock had been replaced with the latest in biometric palm-print readers, along with a standard PIN-entry keypad.  Only the combination of an approved palm print and valid eight-digit PIN allowed one to turn the wheel that opened the door.

The vault had in fact been a bank vault once upon a time.  Then when it looked as though the countries of the Continent might turn in on one another with weapons of annihilation, an enterprising (and paranoid) banking mogul had decided that if the government of Arendelle wasn’t willing to provide appropriate shelter for its most important citizens (like himself), then he would spare no expense in protecting himself and others like him from the apocalypse.  Once the fallout had settled, they would emerge to lead what was left, even if what was left was nothing but rubble and vapor.

So the vault was turned into a bunker with living space for a dozen or so people, accessible only by a high-speed elevator, with a couple of months’ worth of supplies.  As years passed and the chances of a war of total extermination looked less and less likely, the bunker’s purpose had changed.    It was now a meeting place for a small group of people, few of whom held official government power, but had their fingers on the pulse of everything important in Arendelle.

This group didn’t particularly like coming to this underground meeting place.  It was inconvenient, despite being located in the heart of Arendelle City’s business district, and too cloak-and-dagger-ish for most of their tastes.  But they understood the need for discretion and secrecy, and if there was one place they could get together without fear of their conversations being scooped up by prying electronic ears, this was it.  Many of the matters discussed at these meetings were illegal; tonight, they were murderous.

Tonight, they would plot the killing of a woman.  It was distasteful to most of them, though all of them agreed it was necessary.  Most of them even believed it was for the good of Arendelle, though it was mostly for the good of their own private agendas.  But now another life was also involved, and this one had caused the meeting to become rancorous.

“So along with Kjarensen, we have to kill a National Police agent?” one man asked.  “Are you sure that’s necessary?”

Eckbert Weselton, the man at the head of the conference table, nodded vigorously, his large head wobbling on top of his skinny neck.  He was about at the end of his patience with the bickering.  “Yes, yes it is, if we want to maintain our business positions here.”

Weselton had organized this group, made them see their common interests despite the fact that they were often competitors.  He threatened and cajoled them, and convinced them that his way was most often the best way to success.  He was right more often than not, a fact that was neither lost on his colleagues nor ever failed to stoke their resentment.  Resentment that stayed suppressed as their individual fortunes continued to grow.

Now those fortunes were about to be placed in peril.  Arendelle faced an existential crisis, and it seemed that no one in the government was taking any reasonable steps to try and avert it.  Oh, there was a search underway, and claims investigated and discarded, but the fact of the matter was that without serious action on the part of this group, Arendelle would fall. True, it would put only a minor dent in the wealth of most of them – they were all too savvy not to be diversified – but the power, the influence – those were commodities that took time to build, and for all them, that meant keeping Arendelle as it was.

Or with a few nudges here and there, maybe even better than it was now.

Weselton rose from his chair to pace, one of his many nervous habits. 

His compatriots called him Duke, but not for the reasons he imagined.  True, generations ago his family _had_ ruled a Duchy on the Continent. But a series of poor decisions on the part of his multiple-times-great grandfather led to the fall of that land and its eventual absorption into a larger power.  The nickname didn’t come from what he imagined to be his regal and charismatic presence.  It came from the “scepter up his ass,” in the words of one colleague.

As the CEO of Northern International, Arendelle’s largest and wealthiest corporation, Weselton had his fingers in almost every major industry in the country.  Fisheries, shipping, banking, energy - even ice harvesting, though that was mostly a tourist industry these days.  Along with that wealth came access to the country’s power brokers, money being the key to every door worth opening.  His compatriots in this room might not like him, but they respected him, both for his business acumen and the utter ruthlessness of his climb from the pit of his family’s devastated fortunes.  Weselton’s rising tide had lifted all of their boats.

Another man, this one a high-level Castle official, spoke up. “I’m still not completely convinced it’s necessary to terminate the woman, but killing a NP agent can only lead to disaster.”

Heads nodded around the table, and Weselton paused his pacing.  “Not having to eliminate the agent would be ideal, of course, Minister,” he said.  “However, the fact is that the NPs have her under 24/7 surveillance.  The only time she’s exposed is when she goes to the cabin.  They may place her in witness protection at any time, with no warning.  We must deal with her at the safe house.”

The lone woman at the table, the botoxed president of a prosperous cosmetics company, said, “So we eliminate Kjarensen, but let the agent live.  Why borrow more trouble?”

Weselton shook his head.  “Too risky.  It would be a loose end.  A loose end dangling inside the country’s most resourceful police agency, I might remind you."

“For God’s sake, Duke,” the first man protested again, “do you know what will happen if the NPs tie this back to us?”

Weselton turned beady blue eyes on him, peering out from behind pince-nez glasses that had gone out of style a hundred years ago.  “None of us got here without being able to keep secrets, Rosholm, especially secrets of this magnitude,” he snapped.  “Surely I don’t have to remind you that lives have been lost for this before.”

Silence reigned for several minutes, as Weselton’s words reminded them that they were all in this until the end, that past decisions and actions were now driving the present ones.

Another member of the group scooted forward in his chair.  His hoodie and jeans, along with his wild mane of red hair and abundant freckles made him look like a student, and he was, in fact, decades younger than everyone else at the table.  But his voice commanded the same respect as all the others.  He had made his original fortune designing a rather addictive social media site.  But unlike many others his age who’d found the same type of success, he had not been a one-hit wonder.  He’d kept growing his empire through laser-like focus, shrewd business decisions, and the occasional brutal arm-twisting.

“Have we considered another scenario?” he asked.  “We’re eliminating Kjarensen to halt or at least slow down the Erikksen investigation.  Is there another way to accomplish that goal?  Don’t we have people in NP headquarters?  Can we apply some pressure to get them to drop the investigation?  Then there’s no unnecessary killing, which means no unnecessary scrutiny.”

Weselton opened his mouth to respond, but a dry chuckle from the shadows along the edge of the conference room stopped him.  “You really want to try to persuade the NPs to give up their biggest corruption investigation in years so that we can manipulate the future of the country?” the voice said.  “And where would you like to spend _your_ prison term?  For this crime, I guarantee it won’t be house arrest in a castle guestroom.”

A tall man stepped into the light.  He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, a handsome man, expensively dressed. His dark auburn hair fell stylishly over a high forehead, and sideburns of the same color framed a strong jaw. Those who had noticed him earlier had simply assumed that he was one of Weselton’s bodyguards, but closer inspection revealed that to be false.  The man’s green eyes gleamed with a sharp intelligence that was conspicuously missing from Weselton’s thugs.

“Who the hell are you?” the woman demanded.

The auburn-haired man waved his hand dismissively.  “That doesn’t matter right now, although I can assure you that I have as much at stake here as you do.”

“That’s difficult for us for us to believe without knowing who you are and what your stake is,” she retorted.

“I’m afraid you’re just going to have to trust me on this one,” Weselton said.  The woman snorted.  Trust was a commodity in short supply in this group.  “Our young friend here has provided much of the information we needed to put this plan into action.”

The young man continued, “What does matter is the information coming out of the NP headquarters, and none of it indicates that they would be willing to back off the Erikksen case.  Suggestions to the contrary will only draw unwanted attention to our people.”

“And you don’t think murdering an agent will bring undue attention?” Rosholm said.  “Do you know how cops react to cop killings?  The NPs will go on a crusade to find whoever is responsible.  Then where are we?”

Grumbling and nods of agreement circled the table, and Weselton looked around at his colleagues nervously.  The people in this room formed a shaky alliance.  They were all powerful and successful, and used to keeping their own counsel.  It was a miracle that he had managed to bring them together at all, much less keep them on the same course for so long. 

What was that phrase about hanging together or hanging separately?

The man grinned, and the grin was so wide, so incredibly handsome, that everyone around the table fell silent, transfixed.  Weselton imagined he could actually _feel_ the balance of power in the room tipping away from himself to the younger man.  Perhaps he had miscalculated in allowing his trump card to attend this meeting.

“Of course the NPs will do everything in their power to solve the murder of one of its agents, as well as the murder of the primary witness in their most important investigation in years,” the young man said.  He picked up the pitcher in the middle of the table and poured water into one of the crystal tumblers.  “I propose we give them the answer.”  He sipped his water as they all looked at him curiously. 

“What answer is that?” the social media exec asked.

“The answer that we want them to have.  That after years of helping Erikksen with his dirty little scheme, Elsa Kjarensen had an attack of conscience.  Or paranoia.  Or whatever.  Either way, she went to the National Police and started telling them everything she knows.  Right now, Erikksen has no idea that she’s turned on him.  Nor does he know that we’re planning to kill her.  Only we know that.”

“What’s your point?” Rosholm asked.

“The NPs may suspect that he knows about her betrayal, or that he might find out in the near future.  If he does find out, then no one, I repeat, _no one_ , has more motivation to kill Elsa Kjarensen than Agdar Erikksen.”

“And?” Rosholm persisted.

The auburn-haired man rolled his eyes.  “And,” he said patiently, as if talking to an idiot, “we tip the NPs that Erikksen and his clients found out that Kjarensen double-crossed them, and had her and the agent murdered.”

“But when they grab Erikksen, he’ll tell them everything!” the minister protested.  “We’ll all be exposed!”

The auburn-haired man put his face in his hand and shook his head.  His contempt was almost palpable.  Then slowly it dawned on the group what the man was talking about. 

“So we tip the NPs about Erikksen posthumously,” said the woman.  “Three murders rather than two.”

“Problems with that?” Weselton asked.

Silence.  Distasteful as it was, it seemed the only feasible course of action.

“Very well,” Weselton said.  “I’ll make the arrangements.”

That question settled, the tension in the room eased marginally.  The auburn-haired man withdrew back into the shadows at the edge of the room.

“Any further news from the Castle?” Rosholm asked.

“He remains in critical but stable condition,” the minister replied, quoting from the latest medical report out of Arendelle Castle.  “Given his age and mental state, it is only a matter of time.  However, there is no sure projection of how he has left.  We must be prepared to move forward as soon as an announcement is made.”

“Have any new claimants been found?”

"The playboy from Corona still appears to have the strongest case, but his lineage hasn’t been verified yet,” Weselton said.  “And apparently a penniless baron from Grøntfjell turned up at the Castle a few days ago, claiming to be a distant cousin.  But he’s a drunk and a womanizer whose personal debt may actually exceed that of the entire country.  Quite frankly, I’m surprised more lunatics haven’t come out of the woodwork, given what’s at stake.”

“How is the background for our own claimant proceeding?” the woman asked.

“We have enough to get him a hearing,” Weselton answered, his eyes darting over to the tall auburn-haired man.

“Do we have all the votes we need?” Rosholm asked anxiously.

“Yes,” Weselton reassured. “Erikksen has one last meeting to make to ensure we cannot be denied, and then his usefulness is at an end.”


	2. The P.I.

The small wood cabin stood alone at the top of the rutted dirt road, resting on half-acre or so of cleared land that was surrounded by thick woods.  The remnants of what once might have been a stable squatted at the edge of the property. The road itself was little more than a trail, trees crowded against its shoulders, low-hanging branches threatening the finish on any car that dared navigate it. 

For most of the last several decades, the cabin had sat unoccupied, except for the occasional hikers who wandered too far from the established trails, or teenagers looking for a place to get high and hook up.  It had once been a trading post, a place where ice harvesters and reindeer herders stocked up on supplies during their travels. But the main roads had bypassed it more than fifty years ago, and it had fallen into disuse. The nearest town was five miles away by car, but less than half that if one was willing take on a steep hike through the dense forest.

There was one person taking that challenge tonight.

In the forest a half-mile behind the cabin, Anna Aarndahl splashed through a shallow creek, hissing as the icy water soaked through her cargo pants.  Normally she would have just hurdled the creek, but tonight, with her boots slipping over the wet leaves and pine needles, such a jump would most likely end with a face-plant in the mud.

Dark mud splattered her pants legs as she clambered up the creek bank, grabbing onto a branch for support.  She leaned against the tree to catch her breath.  A few sweaty strands of copper-colored hair had escaped her braids to cling to her cheeks. She pushed them behind her ears. 

Anna _thought_ she was in good shape, but her pinched shoulders and aching quads screamed otherwise.  Apparently her workout routine fell short in preparing her to navigate the wooded mountainsides outside Arendelle City in the middle of the night.

 _I should really increase my fee for this one.  It’s a helluva hike out here, and I swear it’s uphill both ways._  

At least she didn’t get lost this time.  Who knew that topographic navigation would be such a challenge?  She’d finally found a use for that compass app on her phone.

Anna pulled a water bottle from the pouch at the side of her pack and took several large gulps.  She could think of several reasons for upping her daily fee for this job. Some were actually related to the job.  The cost of gas to drive out this far.  New hiking boots to replace the ones that had made this trek several times already. 

Yes, legitimate reasons that had nothing to do with a cheating boyfriend, a blown security deposit, and several months’ rent on storage space that she no longer needed.

She hadn’t even been all the way moved out.

 _He has to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done_.  And that was saying something.

 _Focus, Anna.  Cabin.  Job._   She put her water bottle away, adjusted her pack and set off again, slapping at a mosquito that buzzed around her ear. 

Yep, she was definitely increasing her daily fee. 

Despite her repeated trips, the punishing trek hadn’t gotten much easier.  Tonight’s full moon helped, but upped the creepiness factor, casting eerie shadows in the spaces between the trees.  The only sounds she heard were her own breathing and the rustling movements of unseen wildlife.  Rabbits, squirrels and deer were still plentiful this far out of the city, and a distant howl reminded Anna that wolves still roamed the forests of Arendelle. 

Anna slowed as she approached the edge of the woods behind the cabin.  When it came to tracking and tailing and watching people and their activities, she had learned from painful experience that being deliberate and systematic was usually the best approach. 

You just always had to be ready to improvise.

She figured she could run pretty fast if she needed to, but just in case, she took a minute to chamber a round in her 9mm and put the safety on.  The touch of the cool metal settled her nerves.  She had never fired the Walther anywhere but at her club's range, but the weight of it against her hip was reassuring.  You never really needed a gun until you _really needed_ a gun.

Crouching next to a tree, Anna cocked her head and listened for a few minutes.  The only sounds were those that belonged – the breeze blowing through the trees, the chirp of insects, and the movements of animals in the underbrush. 

Satisfied that she was the only human present for the time being, Anna reached into her pack and pulled out her camera. She adjusted the settings, attached a telephoto lens and brought the camera to her eye, making a slow sweep across the property.  Then she flipped down the lens’ attached tripod, steadying it on the ground, and took several shots of the back of the cabin.

Squatting back on her heels, she studied the cabin.  When she accepted this job from an anonymous client, she figured she’d be spying on a love affair.  That impression seemed to be confirmed the first evening she went to the cabin.  A nondescript car arrived, and a large, attractive blond man got out with the even more attractive, even more blonde woman, and they disappeared inside for a few hours.

But a couple of things niggled at Anna about that scenario.  For one, the pair didn’t act like lovers.  She’d never seen them kiss, or hold hands, or even touch at all.   No shared smiles or easy conversation.  Maybe they were playing it cool, but why?  No need for that out here.  They could have freaky sex on the porch and only the wildlife would see them.  If they were screwing, it seemed to be strictly business.

And if it was strictly business, why come all the way out here?  This wasn’t an easy place to get to, even by road, and there were plenty of places in the city to meet for a quick lay, wasn’t that what pay-by-hour rooms were for?  Unless this place was a lot nicer on the inside than the outside, a no-tell motel probably had better amenities. 

 _Or_ , Anna thought sourly, _you can always take her to your apartment and fuck her in the bed you share with your girlfriend_.

God, she hated men.  Well, no, not really, but she seemed to have the world’s worst judgment when it came to picking them.  Or maybe they were all impossible. 

_Or maybe it’s just me who’s impossible._

Anna shook her head and brought her attention back to the cabin.  She’d made some discreet inquiries about the owner and found him legit.  He’d inherited the cabin years ago and had never been able to do anything with it.  He was probably happy as hell that he had been able to get someone to sign a full year lease on the dump, with all the rent paid up front, in cash. 

The renter was another story.  After several days of digging, she had yet to pin that one down.  Dead ends on every path. 

There was enough weird about this whole setup that Anna’s natural curiosity had kicked into high gear.  She wanted to get inside.  She wanted to figure this place out.

Her problem right now was that she couldn’t tell if anyone was in the cabin.  She couldn’t see a light on, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t an interior room that she couldn’t see from out here.  She needed to check the front of the house to see if there might be a car parked there.  The traffic had been pretty sparse during her previous trips out here.  No joggers or hikers, and no bike or motorcycle riders.  The couple of cars that had come up the dirt road had all turned around, obviously lost.  All but the one with the woman and the man, who stayed to get to up to…whatever.

Anna put the camera away and slung her pack onto her shoulder.  She skirted quietly along the edge of the trees, taking care to stay back in the shadows.  No cars at the front of the cabin, and no lights inside. Fishing in her pack, she pulled out a lock pick set in a zippered pouch.  Feeling around it, her experienced fingers quickly located the tools she wanted.

Anna had already checked out the locks during one of her daylight trips, using her telephoto lens as a spotting scope.  That had really piqued her curiosity.  Both the front and back doors had high-quality deadbolts.  Sash locks on all the windows.  All the hardware was shiny and new.  All on a piece-of-crap rental in the middle of nowhere.

To top it all off, the cabin also had a security system, which came as both a thrill and an unpleasant surprise. 

If she was really smart, Anna thought, she would pack up her felonious tools, head home, and report failure to her client.  Because as soon as she got the door open, she would be guilty of breaking and entering.  If caught this time, she would be dealt with a bit more harshly than she had been as a teenager.

But she was curious.  And stubborn.  And prided herself on doing the job right.  Her anonymous client was paying her a lot, and she wanted to deliver.  Word of mouth went a long way in her business, and she could always use a couple of deep-pocketed clients. 

And she was unlikely to get caught.

 _Besides, when’s the last time I did the_ smart _thing?_

Getting into the house wouldn’t be too hard, especially since Anna already had the code for the alarm.  Well, at least she was pretty sure she had it.  The keypad for the security system was mounted right inside the back door.  Once she had confirmed that the house was indeed wired, she had beaten the couple out to the cabin one evening and positioned herself as close to the back door as she could without being seen.  Her nifty new sweeper had plucked the electronic code right out of the air as the man punched it in.

That gadget was definitely worth the time and money she had put into it.  It had taken some playing around with the decryption coding to make sure she matched the keypunches correctly, but Anna figured she’d get at least three tries to disarm the system. 

And if she screwed it up, well, she could run really fast if she needed to. 

Anna held the tools in her mouth while she pulled on a pair of latex gloves with textured fingertips – her hands were already sweating and she didn’t need to drop the pick tools in the mud.  And leaving fingerprints behind would be a bad idea. 

The breeze had moved the scattered clouds to partially cover the moon, and Anna took advantage of the lower light to slide out of the tree line and make it to the back door.  She slipped off her muddy boots, dropping them on the scraggly grass next to the back porch.  It wouldn’t do to announce her presence by leaving dirty boot prints all over the inside of the cabin.  A good PI stayed as invisible as possible.

She took out a thin flashlight, holding it between her teeth while she inserted the tension wrench and pick into the door lock.  Her cousin Eugene swore by pick guns, but Anna had found that her deft touch with the tools was quicker.  And _she_ didn’t leave tell-tale scratch marks all over the lock. 

Applying a bit of torque to the tension wrench, she began to feel her way along with the pick, her fingers sensitive to the dancing of the pins, the subtle descent of the tension wrench.  A few seconds later there was a quiet _snik_ , and she felt the bolt slide back. 

 _A pick gun is faster, my ass_. _Eugene can bite me._

Anna eased the door open and slipped inside.

The alarm panel’s beep broke the silence, its LED casting a rhythmic red pulse across the dark hallway.  She looked at the backlit keypad for a moment, biting her lip, then took a deep breath and punched in a six-digit code.  The panel beeped again, louder than she expected, making her jump, but the LED turned green and Anna exhaled in relief. 

“Yes!” she hissed quietly, giving herself a mental fist bump.  She stuffed the pick tools into her cargo pocket and closed the door, her excitement at her success making her forget that she was now officially a grown-up criminal, and a felon to boot.

 

 --------------------------------------------

 

Anna wasn’t the only one in the woods surrounding the cabin that night.  On the side of the house farthest from where Anna had come through the forest, Fritz Schlager pulled his rifle back, and the red dot of the weapon’s laser scope disappeared from between the young woman’s shoulder blades as she slipped through the back door of the cabin. 

Schlager, a powerfully built man with thick muttonchop whiskers, didn’t know who the woman was, and didn’t know what she was doing there.  He hadn’t even seen her until she made her break from the tree line.  He guessed the wind had covered the sounds of her movement.

He shifted in his firing position next to a stump and checked his watch.  The targets would be arriving soon, but he didn’t know how the red-haired woman in the cabin fit into the plan.  She wasn’t one of his targets, and she obviously wasn’t with the police; police officers didn’t sneak through the forest in the middle of the night, or pick locks to break into people’s houses.  Cops rolled up with lights and sirens and massive shows of force. 

But since his boss had not told him beforehand that there would be a third person, the woman was not part of the plan.  She was an unknown.  The question now was how to deal with her.

He shifted again and worked out a kink in his neck.  He’d been out here since dusk, taking time to plot out his firing position and make his escape plan.  But he was a patient man, able to tolerate lengthy waits without losing his vigilance.  Waiting to take life had a way of keeping one alert.  Killing wasn’t something his employer frequently required of him, but he had done it often enough to appreciate that being so close to death made him feel that much more alive.

His hand ran up along the barrel of his rifle, checking the security of the suppressor at the muzzle.  It was one of the better suppressors he’d used, affecting neither the balance of the weapon nor the velocity of the round.  The velocity was the most important – one or both of his targets could be wearing vests, but his jacketed rounds should take care of that possibility.  More velocity also ensured more damage to the body, thus increasing the probability of a kill.

Schlager was confident he could take down a bull reindeer with his rounds.

His firing position was only about forty yards from the house, just inside the tree line, close enough that with the moonlight, he didn’t really need the expensive scope.  He was tempted to remove it just to test his skill, but smooth completion of the job was his boss’s priority.  Despite the leaves and branches, he had a clear field of fire – after all, a bullet only needed an inch of space to do its job.  He’d been told that the targets would enter the cabin through the back door. They would never get that far. 

Making a kill out here was almost too easy.  The isolation, the distances between dwellings, the cover of the forest – all of it made for a simple shoot-and-scoot scenario.  Unlike the city, where everything was complicated by buildings and crowds, where it was more difficult to find a place to set up a shot and get away cleanly, and where both cops and potential witnesses could be only yards away.  Out here, whatever target he put the red dot on would go down with one shot, and he would be gone as soon the bodies hit the ground.

His escape route through the woods would bring him to an abandoned barn where he had stashed a car.  A few hours after the job was done, he would be back in the city, the car in a chop shop, and his weapon at the bottom of the fjord. 

Schlager’s eyes flicked back to the cabin, where the red-haired woman was still inside.  He decided that if she stayed inside when the shooting started, then he would go with his original plan and escape through the woods.  If she came outside or otherwise got in the way…well, ammunition was cheap and therefore, so were humans.  The only difference would be that there would be three bodies rather than two.


	3. The Witness

Elsa Kjarensen leaned back against the headrest in the passenger seat of the unmarked sedan, which cruised along at exactly the posted speed limit.  The beginnings of a headache tapped along her temples, and the combination of too much coffee and too little food had her stomach grumbling in protest.  She had tried to catch a nap, but her anxiety overcame even the dull hum of the tires on the road, so she settled for staring out the window instead.

The car turned off the highway, and below the exit ramp, Elsa could see a train making its way toward Arendelle City.  For moment she imagined that it was leaving the city instead, and that she was on it, on a winding track headed high up into the mountains, where she felt most free, where she could think and _breathe_. 

She blinked and reality returned, the one with Elsa still in a car that was leaving behind the gas-vapor lights of the highway and rolling along a two-lane road where the sedan’s headlamps were the only source of light besides the moon.

She was tired, so tired already.  Tired of the cloak-and-dagger pickups, tired of the odors of fried food and stale coffee that permeated the car, tired of the long drives and the unending forest along the road.  But mostly she was tired of the endless questions and wondering if she had done the right thing by coming to the NPs in the first place.

“Why couldn’t Inspector Bjorgman pick me up tonight?” Elsa asked.  “He led me to believe this was biggest case he’s working on.”

National Police Agent Persie Norberg replied, “The biggest case, yes, but not the only one.  He said he’ll be out if he can, but it’s not likely.  Besides, you and I aren’t exactly strangers.  It will be just like the other times we came out here.  We’ll just talk.  You can pretend I’m Kristoff if you want.  Just picture me with more hair and less belly.”  He smiled in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring, but it just irritated her instead.

He turned the sedan onto another, narrower road, where the trees crowded closer and Elsa felt as though she was being pinched through a funnel without knowing exactly what awaited her at the end.  Norberg glanced over at her, and she had the distinct feeling that she made him uneasy, though she had no idea why.  Still, that hadn’t stopped him from looking at her legs every time she crossed or uncrossed them.

“It’s just for tonight,” he went on.  “From here on out, you’ll be with Kristoff.  “You’re pretty comfortable with him, right?”

“I’m not sure ‘comfortable’ is a word I will ever apply to this situation,” Elsa said dryly.

She folded her arms around her body and crossed her legs again.  Her skirt rode up a few inches above her knees at the movement, and Norberg’s eyes flicked over her thighs again.  Elsa worked mightily not to roll her own eyes.  Men could be so predictable.

Elsa knew she was attractive.  Along with her intelligence and poise, she knew her looks had helped her career.  Good looks always helped, no matter how much she would like to pretend otherwise, especially when dealing with men.  Tall and slender, with long shapely legs that never failed to draw people’s gazes, Elsa’s looks got her through the doors, and into the places where she could bring her brains to bear to accomplish her goals.  

And if the facts weren’t enough, well, her other assets helped.  More than one councilor had signed onto her ideas after she'd simply crossed her legs, or let one high-heeled pump dangle from her foot.  Elsa talked about sustainable power, clean energy and air quality, and the councilors stared at her toe cleavage and bobbed their heads like drinking birds.  God, testosterone made men stupid.  It was every woman’s secret weapon.

“I think that the word ‘comfortable’ should apply to this situation,” Norberg was saying.  “Inspector Bjorgman is one hundred percent in on this.  In fact, without him pushing at headquarters, I’m not sure this case would be going anywhere.  You haven’t given us much.”  He looked at her expectantly.

Elsa refused to rise to the bait.  Any exchange that happened was going to be done on her terms.

When she didn’t reply, Norberg went on, “But Kristoff believes you.  As long as you don’t do anything that shakes his confidence in you, everything will be fine.  He’ll be your most powerful ally.  We’re going to take care of you.”

“It’s nice to know you all think so highly of me,” Elsa murmured.

Norberg shot her a look.  “You have to work with us, Elsa.”

“I know,” she sighed.  “It’s just so – I mean, you picked me up in an alley three blocks from my office.  We changed cars twice before we left town.  We’re going to a broken-down cabin ten miles from nowhere in the middle of the night.  It’s all a bit much, don’t you think?”

“We couldn’t exactly take you into Headquarters.  You’re going to be the star witness in the biggest corruption investigation in years, and if it leaks, well, there could be all kinds of problems.  This place out here is safe.”

“It seems too far out of the way to completely safe,” she said.  “What if we’re followed?”

“Elsa, look around.  No one can follow us out here without being seen,” he replied.  “We know what we’re doing.  We had another unit as a tail until we turned off the highway.  Relax.”

Even as he said this, he glanced in the rearview mirror, and then down at the cell phone in the console between them.  Elsa wondered if he was now wishing for some kind of backup, as if he were just now becoming aware of their isolation.  He wiggled in his seat, turning toward her slightly.  His suit jacket gaped open with the motion, giving her a glimpse of his bulletproof vest, and the gun he carried in a shoulder holster.  She suddenly felt quite clammy, her palms damp and her silk blouse sticking to her as a bead of sweat ran down between her shoulder blades.

She shifted in her seat, turning to face him.  She had really wanted Bjorgman here tonight, because she really needed to get her arms around everything that was happening, to regain some semblance of control over the situation.  That might not be possible, given the magnitude of the events and how hard the NPs were pushing her.  Maybe it was better that Norberg was here; she could poke and prod around the edges, maybe get an idea of their thinking.

“So what do I get out of all of this?” Elsa asked.  “We’ve discussed it peripherally, but we’ve never come to a firm agreement.  I’m taking a lot of risks.”

“You came to us,” Norberg reminded her, mild reproof in his voice.  “No one twisted your arm.”

Yes, she had come to them, and so far, none of it had gone like she planned.  “You didn’t answer my question.”

Norberg frowned as he fiddled with the car’s temperature controls.  “I can’t tell you.” 

“Can’t or won’t?”

He sighed.  “I can’t, because I don’t know.  Kristoff can tell you more, but you haven’t really given us anything we can work with yet.  I can tell you that if you lay it all out for us, everything will be okay.  You give us what we need, and we roll up your boss and all of his cronies.  Then if you want, you can have a new identity renting out motor scooters at some beach on the Med, or whatever floats your boat, while they become long-term residents in the basement of the Castle.”

Elsa squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to imagine Agdar in a dank cell in the dungeon of Arendelle Castle.  A small sound escaped her.  _No_.

“Don’t think too much about it, just get through it.  We’re on your side here,” Norberg said.  “In fact, we’re the only friends you have.”

Elsa’s vague original notion was that she might be able to work a deal for both her and Agdar; that she and her mentor could roll over on their dirty councilors and get immunity for their part in the biggest corruption scandal in Arendelle’s recent history.  It looked like she was going to have to adjust her plan. 

She thought she would be pitching this idea to Agent Bjorgman, but it might be better to try it out on Norberg first.  She and Kristoff Bjorgman had hit it off to the extent that they were capable of – they were both reserved, observers more than talkers, and more than a bit mistrustful of people in general.  But they also circled each other warily, like two dogs eyeing the same bone.  Bjorgman saw things in black and white, while Elsa’s world held many shades of gray.

“I want Agdar in on this,” she said finally.

“What?”

“We need Agdar too.  I know I can get him to come in,” Elsa insisted.  “If you have him, you have so much more.  Together we can make your case even stronger.”

Norberg stared at her like she’d sprouted a second head.  “We can’t make a deal with the guy who cooked up this whole thing in the first place.  He broke the law.”

“But if you understood why he did it, you—“

“I don’t _care_ why he did it,” Norberg interrupted her.  “According to you, he bribed multiple members of the Nasjonsting, along with government employees, and possibly people on the Castle staff.  It’s corruption, pure and simple.  That’s all I need to know.”

“What if I say you have to take him to get me? Both of us or neither?”

“Then I say you’re not as smart as you look.  Don’t do this to yourself, Elsa.”

“I guess I’ll have to talk to Inspector Bjorgman.”

“Go ahead.  I guarantee he’ll tell you the same thing.”

“Maybe.  Maybe not.  We’ll see.  I can be persuasive,” Elsa said. 

Norberg let out an exasperated sigh.  “Look, we’re not the ones making these decisions.  Who gets a deal and who doesn’t is up to the Prosecuting Authority, not to us.  They’re the lawyers, we’re just the cops.  Do you really think the PA is going to take down a bunch of high-ranking politicians and let the guy who set them up walk?”

“But - ”

“Come on, Elsa, I thought you were smarter than that.  You should understand politics.  You know that if Erikksen walks while the councilors go to jail, the politicians will scream loud enough to echo off the North Mountain.  Hell, with a couple of the people you’ve hinted at, it might, just maybe, be enough to actually get the _King’s_ office involved.  No lawyer who gives a reindeer’s ass about his career is going to let that happen.  They’ll drop the hammer on both of you first.  Trust me, I’ve been doing this for almost twenty-five years and I’ve seen it happen before.”

Elsa sagged back against the seat, her confidence melting away like a snowflake in July.  With all the time she had spent in the halls and offices of the Nasjonsting, how could she have failed to account for the political angle?  A vision of Agdar slumped in a dark dungeon cell, his proud face sallow and gaunt, crept into her mind before she could stop it. 

She closed her eyes.  No, she could not allow that to happen.  She had to make Bjorgman and Norberg and all the lawyers see that she was right, that Agdar had to be given immunity too.  He had to be protected.

“Why do you want to bring him in, Elsa? What do you owe him?”

 _My mentor, my friend, the closest thing I’ve had to a father for years, the one person in my life who’s always believed in me?_   Who else but Agdar would have taken a chance on someone like her then, a naïve, socially awkward nineteen-year-old? Even with her graduate degrees, there had been plenty of better bets out there.  

But Agdar had seen _something_ in her.  He had taken her under his wing, introduced her around, and taught her about the inner workings of the Nasjonsting, Arendelle’s parliament.   He nurtured her confidence.  He refused to let her squirrel herself away in a cubicle.  Under his patient guidance, she had gone from a girl who could barely make eye contact with a barista to a woman who found herself in the offices of the powerful, making the case for legislation and funding to protect and nurture Arendelle.

Agdar had given her the tools and the confidence to do all that.  To stand on her own two feet.  What did she owe him?  What could she say besides ‘everything?’

So she said nothing.

But her relationship with Agdar had slowly changed.  He had started to withdraw from her, becoming reclusive and talking to her less.  He traveled without her, to places he refused to tell her about.  More and more, she had no idea what he was working on.  He locked himself away, pushing his even his most favored clients off on her.  He lost his temper over trivial matters. 

Then he did something he had never done before: he lied to her.  It had been over such an insignificant thing that Elsa didn’t even remember what it was about, but it devastated her. When she confronted him, he lied about lying to her. 

Finally came the most shattering blow: he suggested that it might be best if she left his firm.  Left him.  She couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d slapped her. 

 _You’ll be fine, Elsa_ , he’d said.

Then it had dawned on her that maybe someone was onto Agdar and his scheme, and terrified by that thought, she asked him straight out about it.  He denied it straight out, and refused to meet her tearful eyes as he insisted that she leave. 

Like she was a disappointing child being told to get out of her father’s house.

After hours of debating with herself, several crying jags, and one night spent with a bottle of Brennevin sinking into a morass of drunken self-pity, she had decided to go to the National Police.  She wasn’t sure if they were onto him or not, but thought it might be easier if they cooperated.  They could both get immunity in exchange for what they knew. 

But now doubts closed in on her from every direction.  How could she have been so stupid?  They wanted Agdar to go to prison.

“I need to use the bathroom,” Elsa told Norberg.

“We’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he protested.

“I can’t wait that long,” she replied.  “Take the next right, and there’s a tavern about a quarter-mile down.”

“How do you know?”

“The wonders of Google.”

He looked at her suspiciously, but made the turn and pulled into the parking lot of the small tavern.  Elsa guessed it catered to whatever locals lived in this isolated area; there were only a couple of vehicles in the lot.  She got out and made her way inside. 

The few patrons in the darkened interior paid her little attention, but the bartender looked her over appreciatively.  She ignored him as she crossed to the women’s bathroom, where she locked the door carefully behind her before going to the toilet and throwing up what little she’d eaten that day.

 

*****

 

Agdar Erikksen slumped over his desk in his darkened office and pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. His eyeballs felt dry and gritty under the lids.  It had been another long day for him, bouncing between meetings with councilors about his pet issues and fielding phone calls from clients who were becoming irate over his lack of time for them.  Now his long day had stretched into another long night, the latest in a series of long nights that were starting to take a toll on him.

He ran his fingers through his hair, still thick and strawberry-blond, but with gray making rapid inroads around his temples.  Sighing, he reached for his travel mug, which had become his most constant companion in the last several months.  Black coffee had become the only remedy for his exhaustion, and he found that he needed it in ever-increasing amounts.  He took a sip and grimaced.  The stuff was strong enough to stand a spoon up in it.  His gut protested as soon as the hot liquid slid past his throat.

Agdar glanced at his watch.  He could finish up here in the next half-hour, and maybe, just maybe, catch three or four hours of sleep before he started over again.  He bent over the small notebook, scribbling his thoughts, making connections, noting what he needed to flesh out or follow up on. 

An outside observer would have found the scene puzzling.  Agdar’s office was equipped with all the technology one might expect in a modern workplace, yet Agdar hunched over the desk, his nose almost touching the surface, pressing pen to paper.  His computer monitors were the only equipment in use, and then only to provide enough light for him to write.

Agdar no longer trusted his technology.  Computers could be hacked, phones tapped, offices bugged.  His current project, the one that had started as a favor years ago, had slowly become a duty, then a mission, and now an obsession.  And all of it – every thought, every detail – was kept in this small leather-bound journal that never, ever left his possession.

He jerked his head up at the sound of footfalls in the outer office.  It was way past time for the housekeeping staff to be gone.  Agdar closed the notebook and crammed it into his suit pocket just as the knob on his office door rattled. His hand darted to his phone, thumb hovering over the Emergency Call button as the door swung open.

A short, skinny silhouette of a man stood framed in the doorway, large head swaying atop a scrawny neck.  The man’s hand reached inside and flipped the light switch.  Agdar squinted against the sudden brightness, watching as Eckbert Weselton sauntered into his office, swinging an ivory-handled walking stick. 

Weselton unbuttoned his suit jacket and made himself comfortable in the chair across from him.  A tall red-haired man followed him in, taking up a position against the wall near the door.

“Good evening, Agdar,” Weselton greeted. “”Burning the midnight oil again?”

“What do you want, Weaseltown?” Agdar asked.

“Weselton!” the little man said sharply.  “It’s Weselton!  And considering that you essentially work for me now, I think a little respect is due!”

 _Very little,_ Agdar thought.  Aloud, he asked, “How did you get in here?  This building is supposed to be secured at night.”

“And it probably is, for most people,” Weselton countered. 

Agdar curled his hand around the arm of his chair, resisting the urge to reach across the desk and punch the smug grin right off the little troll’s face.  “What do you want, _Weselton_?” he ground out.

“Tsk, tsk, Agdar.  I think our relationship is such that we can use our Christian names.  I’m polite enough to use yours.  Given my generosity toward you, I think you should return that courtesy.”

Agdar fumed quietly.  “To what do I owe the courtesy of this visit, _Eckbert_?” he asked, trying and mostly failing to keep the loathing out of his voice.  Weselton looked offended.  _I’ll be damned if I’m calling you Duke._

The little man sniffed.  “You need to go to Sornland tomorrow and buck up Councilor Brunsvold.  I hear he’s been losing his faith recently, and we need to keep him in the fold, so to speak.”

Agdar stared at him impassively, but his mind churned.  Councilor Brunsvold had indeed been expressing doubts about the “pension program” Agdar had set up for him.  Whether the councilor was having an attack of conscience or just losing his nerve, he didn’t know.  How Weselton knew about Brunsvold’s doubts was something Agdar pushed aside for now.  Weselton seemed to know everything about his ‘beneficiaries.’

“Why do I need to go to Sornland?” he asked.  “I can see Brunsvold when he returns to town.  In fact, I was planning on it.”

“You don’t need to know that,” Weselton snapped.  “You just need to do what you’re told.”

“You don’t own me, Weaselltown!” Agdar shot to his feet, looming over the little man, clenching his fists.  His vision narrowed until it was focused only on the man’s oversized nose, a target begging to be struck.

“Oh, but I’m afraid we do own you, Mr. Erikksen.  And perhaps we just want to see how high you go when we say ‘jump'.”  The tall man detached himself from the wall and swaggered over to the desk.  “One phone call to the National Police about your little pension program and you and all its beneficiaries will go to prison.”

Agdar pressed his hands down hard on the surface of his desk, trying to rein in his temper.  They were pushing every one of his buttons, and he didn’t trust himself to stay calm.  “And you are…?” he managed.

“Oh, how rude of me,” Weselton said.  “Agdar, meet Hans Westergard.”

Westergard extended his hand.  Agdar shook it, more from reflex than anything else, his mind racing.

“Hans Westergard?  As in Westergard Export Brokers?”

“The same.  I’m the managing agent here in Arendelle.”

“Why are you with - ” Agdar broke off, his thoughts flashing back to his notes, sorting information, making connections.  _No.  No, it can’t be._

“We’re as concerned for Arendelle’s future as you are, Mr. Erikksen,” Westergard said. 

_I doubt that._

 “And what we’re working on will have a much more lasting impact than any of your eco-crazy proposals,” Westergard went on.  “In fact, the continued existence of Arendelle depends on us.”

Agdar froze as he considered Westergard’s statement.  Were they trying to manipulate the succession?  Had they found someone?  He tried to process the implications.

Rolling his eyes to hide his concern, Agdar said to Weselton, “Do all your associates harbor such delusions of grandeur?”

Westergard stepped toward him threateningly.  Agdar stood his ground, fingers curling into hard fists.  _Bring it, pretty boy._   He suddenly itched for a fight in a way that he hadn’t since he was a much younger man.  Westergard’s smooth, handsome face had probably never been the victim of so much as a playground spat, while Agdar’s nose marked him as a veteran of several youthful tavern brawls.

“Enough, Hans,” Weselton said.  “Do you have any questions about your visit with Councilor Brunsvold?”

Agdar eyed him for a long moment.  ”Do you lose even a wink of sleep over sacrificing Arendelle’s well-being to further your own selfish interests?”

“Don’t get self-righteous with me, Agdar,” Weselton retorted. “You’re obviously not above using illegal means to advance your own agenda.  I daresay you wouldn’t be facing this situation if you hadn’t turned to bribery.  Who are you to deny us the same privilege?”

Agdar had nothing to say.  His pension scheme was an idea born of desperation, of his anger at seeing Arendelle exploited, his anguish at watching what his country had become in the hands of men like Weselton.  A nation of haves and have-nots, where money bought power, and the needs of the country fell second to the needs of the few at the top.  Agdar had attempted to fight fire with fire, and now he was getting burned.

He’d never felt so helpless.

“Besides,” Weselton went on, “as Hans said, we’re working to secure Arendelle’s future. Just as you are.”

Agdar coughed to cover a derisive snort.  No sense in antagonizing the little troll any further.

Westergard put a briefcase on Agdar’s desk.  “This is fully equipped,” he said.  “There’s a pinhole camera here,” he pointed to the top corner of the briefcase, “and a mic.  Just twist the handle to activate the recorder.”

“Make sure he talks about everything you’re doing for him after he leaves office,” Weselton instructed.  “The do-nothing job, the ‘retirement’ payments, all of it.  The more details, the better.”

“Right.”

“Don’t worry, Agdar, it’s almost over.  Brunsvold is the last piece we need.”

“It better be.  You come here again and you may not walk out under your own power.”

“Threats, Mr. Erikksen?” Westergard sneered.  “From one lonely, corrupt consultant?  Oh, right, maybe not so lonely.  You do have an army of one.  How _is_ Elsa doing?”

It took all of Agdar’s self-control not to launch himself across the desk.  “Elsa is not part of this,” he snarled.  “She will never be part of this.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Ah yes, the Ice Queen, Elsa Kjarensen,” Westergard said, his smile predatory. “Cold but beautiful, pure, incorruptible.  One flash of those legs and she could convince the Nasjonsting to unanimously appoint her the next ruler of Arendelle.” 

Agdar stiffened, his fists clenching and unclenching.  “Stay away from her, Westergard.”

“You’re hardly in a position to give me orders, Erikksen,” Westergard said, examining his fingernails.  “Besides, I was only commenting on her rather… _obvious_ charms.  What’s that delightful American expression?  ‘I’d hit that?’  Oh, yes, I’d definitely hit that.”

Now Agdar was around the desk, grabbing the loathsome man by his lapels and shaking him hard enough to rattle teeth.  They scuffled for half a minute before Weselton’s nasally voice cut through the room.

“That is enough!” he screeched, slamming his cane against Agdar’s desk.  “This is getting us nowhere!”

Agdar shoved Westergard away and retreated behind his desk, panting.  Westergard smoothed his coat with a smug smile. 

Weselton pointed his cane at Agdar. “Stop worrying.  _You_ are the only one in the crosshairs.  At least for now.  As long as you continue to cooperate.”  He stood up.  “Go home, Agdar.  You have an early train to catch.  We can’t have you falling asleep during your meeting with Brunsvold.”

Weselton jerked his head toward the door, and he and Westergard slithered out like the snakes they were.

Agdar slumped back into his chair, shaking all over.  He pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead until his trembling stopped.  Ever since Weselton pranced into his life in those ridiculous high-heeled wingtips, Agdar had become little more than an errand boy.  He was turning the people he had been bribing for years- with his own money – into unknowing pawns in the game Weselton was playing.  But until tonight, Agdar had little idea of what that game might be.

Weselton had made a mistake in introducing Westergard.  The younger man was full of himself and talked a bit too much.  If Agdar was interpreting his arrogant statements correctly, they were working toward the same endgame, although with different outcomes in mind. 

He dug his notebook out of his pocket and opened it to a fresh page, where he scribbled ‘Westergard – connection?’ 

Arrogant or not, Hans Westergard was a dangerous man.  It had taken him only minutes to assess Agdar’s weak points, and even less time to start prodding at them.  Agdar could not afford to underestimate him.

More late nights, more digging, more working around Weselton’s demands.  Agdar had a feeling he was now in a race against both time and Weselton, with Arendelle’s future as the prize for the winner.


	4. Cabin Confrontation

Anna closed the door behind her and swept her flashlight back and forth across the hallway.  At first glance, the inside of the cabin seemed to be in no better shape than the outside.  Her flashlight revealed scarred wood plank walls with peeling paint. Warped floorboards creaked beneath her sock feet. A musty odor tickled her nostrils.

The first door she opened off the hallway led into a bedroom.  There was a full-sized bed, made up with an old-fashioned floral quilt, and a dresser with a mounted mirror near the door.  A bi-fold closet door was on the opposite wall.  A thick layer of dust coated the furniture.   The musty odor was noticeably stronger in here.

 _Eww…nobody’s having sex on_ this _bed_.  Anna wrinkled her nose as her flashlight played over what looked like patches of mold on the bedclothes.  She crossed the room and opened the closet, cringing when the rusty hinges squealed like nails on a chalkboard.  The closet was empty – not even a single hangar – and unfinished, with corroded nail heads protruding from the uncovered wall studs.

 _This is too weird_ , Anna thought as she slid the closet door shut.  She left the bedroom and opened the door directly across the hall.  A second bedroom, this one with threadbare wall-to-wall carpeting.  The dust in here was just as thick, and the stink so strong that Anna had to hold her nose as she moved about the room. 

This room was a bit larger than the one across the hall, but in no better repair.  The support joists jutted through breaks in the plaster ceiling, and water, probably from a roof leak, had seeped down the plaster wall and pooled on the carpet.   She pushed at a discolored spot with her toe, jerking it back as water seeped through her sock.

The linens on this bed were moldy and undisturbed as well.  A quick inspection of the closet showed that it was also empty and unfinished. 

Anna left the room and just stood in the hallway for a moment, her bewilderment and apprehension rising together.  She had been certain that Elsa Kjarensen was using this place as a love nest, but there was no way that anyone was having sex in these bedrooms. 

Not unless one or both partners had absolutely no sense of smell, or had an erotic fantasy about choking on mold spores.

 _What the hell is going on here?_   Anna shivered despite the stale air in the house.  Her common sense was telling her to get out, send what she had to the client and collect her paycheck.  But her inquisitive nature, her desire to solve this puzzle, was spurring her on. 

The bathroom looked a little better.  The sink was clean, though there was dust caked around the counter, and there was toilet paper on the roll.  The toilet itself looked ancient – the brass tank was mounted high up on the wall, with a long chain-pull instead of a handle for flushing.  Old copper pipes ran from the tank down to the bowl. 

Anna yanked the chain-pull.  There was a loud _crack!_ and she leaped back, stifling a cry as the brass tank wobbled on its mount.   

“Oooh, please don’t fall, please don’t fall!”

It would be just her luck.  She could picture the headline – _University Place Woman Crushed by Ancient Toilet; Ex-Boyfriend Gets the Dog and Estate worth 61 Kroners._

But the tank stayed put, the water flowed unhindered into the bowl, and she heard the tank refill.  So someone was maintaining the plumbing.  Another sweep of her flashlight revealed a dusty condom wrapper jammed into a corner. A wigged-out part of her mind wondered if the visiting couple did the deed astride the old john instead of in the bed.

 _You’re getting loopy, Aarndahl_.  Maybe she was breathing in too much mold.  But still, it was the cleanest part of this dump so far.

As she moved on down the hall towards the front rooms, Anna heard a faint but audible _click_ from somewhere else in the house.  She froze for a second, heart pounding, then reached back and pulled her 9mm from its holster.  Flicking the safety off, she flattened her back against the wall, then swung both the pistol and the flashlight in a wide arc.  

The beam revealed nothing.  Anna slumped against the wall, feeling stupid.  It was an old house, that was all, and old houses made weird noises.  The fact that it was dank and smelly and creepy was making her jumpy.

She swept through the kitchen, a small affair with peeling, fruit-patterned wallpaper, an old-fashioned icebox, and an ancient-looking gas stove.  No table or chairs, just a rough-hewn wooden bar bracketed to the wall with a couple of stools next to it.  There were no food smells, just a stale odor, and a quick check confirmed that the icebox was empty.  No sign of water in the sink, no utensils, plates, or drink glasses anywhere.  Nothing to indicate that the kitchen might have been used anytime recently.

Anna moved on to the front room, anxious to complete her search.  In here, the old furniture had been pushed back against the walls, leaving tracks in the dust on the floor.  In the middle of the room, someone had set up a card table and a few metal folding chairs.  There was a space heater in one corner.  A coffee pot sat on a small table off to the side, surrounded by paper cups, sugar packets, a powdered creamer bottle, and a box of plastic stirrers.

Anna studied the scene for a moment, more confused than ever.  What were the Kjarensen woman and her big blond maybe-lover getting up to out here for hours at a time?  Anna wasn’t one to judge people on who or how they spent their sack time, but why come all the way out here just to sit around a wobbly table and drink coffee? 

_Especially with that nasty powdered creamer stuff in it._

She played her flashlight around the room again, freezing when it passed over the front windows.  They were boarded up.  Anna wondered, with all the pictures she’d taken, how she could’ve missed that during her outside inspection of the house.  She moved closer to the window and realized that the boards had been nailed on right over the curtains.  Fragments of lacy fabric stuck out from around the plywood.

“This is just too weird,” she said out loud, sliding her pistol back into the holster and pulling her camera out of her pack.  She adjusted the settings and took several shots of the boarded-over windows, the table, and the coffeepot.  She hoped all this would mean something to her client, because right now, she had no clue. 

Anna put her camera away and swung her flashlight into the tiny foyer.  A metallic glint caught her eye.  Moving closer, she saw a small door set in the wall of the foyer, presumably a closet.  The flashlight had reflected off the closet’s shiny deadbolt lock.

Definitely a new lock – there was small pile of fresh sawdust on the floor right below it.

Anna scratched her head.  Deadbolt locks on exterior doors were one thing.  She could get that, even if the house was a dump, because they would at least keep out trespassers.  But this whole thing was just screwed up.  Why a security system?  Why a new deadbolt lock on an inside closet in a piece-of-crap cabin?  And what was that humming sound coming from the closet?  Now Anna felt her curiosity as an almost physical thing, wrapping her in an unbreakable grip. 

Besides, she really hated locked doors.  Especially when they were locked for no apparent reason.

She held her flashlight in her mouth and dug out her pick tools.  As she selected the ones she needed, her mind sorted through the possibilities.  Drug dealing?  Maybe, but unlikely – there would be more security, probably armed goons, and the transport and distribution options were really limited out here.  Money?  Maybe the couple was stealing cash or valuables from her client and stashing them out here.  That still didn’t explain the coffee or the hanging around for hours.  And it just didn’t make sense when there were lots of places in the city for all that kind of stuff.

Anna’s nimble fingers made short work of the lock.  She eased the door open and peeked in, not sure what to expect.  What she did see was one thing that had never occurred to her.

The red and green blinking lights of electronic equipment stared back at her.  The humming sound she’d heard was coming from the system’s fans.  Anna furrowed her brow as she studied it.  A small flat-screen TV sat on top of what appeared to be a network switch with several data lines running into it.  Most of the lines were run from the ceiling down the unfinished wall of the closet, but the last one was connected to…

“Oh, _shit_.”

A digital video recorder.

Anna dashed back into the front room, waving her flashlight wildly.  As she ran the beam along the exposed ceiling joists, she saw a flash of reflection from one of them.  She dragged one of the metal chairs over and climbed up on it, training her light where she thought she saw the reflection.  Sure enough, she saw the tell-tale glint of light off glass, and probed at the hole in the wood beam.

A miniature security camera.  _This just gets better and better_.  She slid her hand over the top of the joist, her fingers closing around the wires that connected the camera to the rest of the system.  Anna jumped off the chair and searched along the other ceiling joists until she had identified four cameras in all. 

She thought back to the network switch in the closet and her heart jumped into her throat.  What if someone was monitoring the cameras remotely?  _They could be watching me right now._   She fought a wild urge to flip off the unseen observers.

Anna ran back to the closet and jerked all of cables out of the switch, depriving the DVR of its feed.  She checked the rest of the closet thoroughly, but did not see any indications of an outbound connection.  A closed system.  Thank God for small favors.

 _Has it been recording the whole time?_   She had disabled the alarm before entering the cabin, so that couldn’t have been the trigger.  But it didn’t make any sense to record when there was nobody there.

Then she remembered the faint click that had startled her earlier.  She must have tripped a laser or motion sensor of some sort that triggered the cameras.  _Shitshitshitshit_.  Her mind raced as she considered the possibilities that such a setup suggested.  None of them were good.

There may not have been anyone watching her in real time, but Anna’s face was still on the DVR.  In fact, it had probably gotten a really great close-up of her when she was looking for the cameras. 

She turned on the TV and grabbed the remote, running the recording back.  A flash of light obscured the view for a second, and then sure enough, her heart-shaped face filled the screen in all of its freckled glory.  _Fuck!_

She fumbled her Walther out of the holster and cocked it, ready to put a bullet into the DVR.

A few shaky breaths later, reason prevailed.  If she blew the machine to hell, it would immediately obvious to whoever was checking the equipment.  Maybe she could erase it. She uncocked her gun and holstered it, then experimented with the controls on the remote.  No option to erase.  _Shit_.  Maybe she could get the hard drive out.  She felt around the DVR, fingers searching for screws or latches that would allow her access to its innards. 

There.  Screws on the back.  She reached for the multitool on her belt, but froze when the crunch of car tires on the dirt road outside reached her ears.  She stood rooted to the spot for a moment as the car’s headlights penetrated the cracks in the boards over the windows.

Was it Kjarensen and her big blond companion?  She didn’t think they would come again until tomorrow night.  Goddammit, why hadn’t they kept to their regular pattern?

Acting on instinct, Anna slung her pack over her shoulder, then grabbed the DVR and yanked it from the closet, leaving a tangle of cables in its wake.  She sprinted down the hallway, flung open the back door and hurled herself off the steps, sliding when her feet hit the wet ground.  She lost her balance and pitched forward, gashing her head on the DVR as she fell.

Expletives streamed from her lips as she picked herself up and bolted across the yard as fast as her legs would carry her.  She hurtled into the tree line just before the car pulled around to the back of the cabin, its headlights sweeping across the yard.  She never saw the red dot that danced briefly across her chest before she dove into the underbrush. 

Anna lay on her back in the moss next to a tree, her chest heaving with exertion and fright.  She hugged the DVR to her body with one arm and raised the other to her head, swiping across her hairline where she had smacked it.  Her hand came away bloody, but there wasn’t much she could do about it at this point. 

She pushed herself to a seated position, intending to slip off through the woods and leave this disaster behind as fast as she could.  _Oh no_ , she thought, staring at her sock feet.  It would be a long painful hike without her boots, which she had left by the back steps in her haste to get away.  Maybe the people in the car wouldn’t notice them, and she could creep back up to the house and get them once they went inside.

She knew she ought to just leave the boots and run.  Instead, she hunkered down next to the tree and watched as a brown sedan pulled up and parked.  It wasn’t the usual car, and the chubby, balding man on the driver’s side was _definitely_ not Kjarensen’s usual companion. 

 _What the hell?_   Anna’s discoveries tonight had pretty much ruled out the cabin being a love nest, but who was this new man being thrown into the mix?  She decided to stick around and if she if she could pick up anything else.  If the situation went south, well, she would scarper like she was Arendelle’s first barefoot Olympic sprinter.

Elsa Kjarensen got out of the passenger seat and started toward the cabin.  The balding man rounded the front of the car to join her.  He suddenly froze, staring at the back of the house.

 _Oh shit, the door_.  Anna’s eyes darted to the back door, which she had left standing wide open during her escape.

The man pushed Kjarensen back toward the car.  He whirled around as if looking for something, then reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun.

  

*************

 

Fritz Schlager watched the scene unfold through the scope of his rifle.  The red-haired woman’s headlong flight from the house caught him by surprise.  He’d gotten the scope on her and briefly considered dropping her, but did not do so for fear of alerting the targets in the approaching car.  Hopefully, the she would just keep on running; this was the second time tonight that he had refrained from killing her.  She should thank her good fortune and move on, because he certainly wasn’t going to give her a third chance.

Schlager had adjusted his firing position.  He was now kneeling behind a stump right at the edge of the tree line.  His left elbow rested on top of the stump, providing stable support for his shot.  He was slightly uphill of the house and had a clear view of the back door.  With his jacketed rounds, he could probably take both targets with one shot, if they lined up right.  If not, he would take the man first, as he was likely to be armed.

Settling his weapon firmly into the pocket of his shoulder, Schlager pressed his cheek to the stock and eyed his first target through the scope.  Placing the red dot on the man’s neck as he got out of the car, the gunman tracked him as he approached the house.  At the edge of his vision, he could sense the blonde woman moving to join the man, but kept his attention on the primary target.  He allowed himself a small smile as the woman moved into his focus.  Yes, the targets were aligning themselves nicely.

He slipped his finger inside the trigger guard, pressing it lightly against the trigger between his fingertip and first joint.  As the man in the yard drew his gun and turned, the two targets lined up in his sight.  Schlager exhaled slowly, held his breath, and gently squeezed the trigger.

  

************

 

“Oh my God!”  Anna yelled when the balding man’s body jerked and fell, taking Kjarensen down with him.  She scrambled to her feet, ready to run out and help them.  Something smacked into the tree next to her head with enough force to send splinters flying, and Anna dropped to the ground, not quite able to suppress a scream.

 _He got shot!  Someone shot him!_  

Dirt sprayed from the ground next to her foot, and terror gripped her as she realized that the _someone_ was shooting at her now. She scrabbled back under cover and pressed herself into the ground, trying her best to become one with the earth.  Another shot slammed into the tree near her leg.  Anna prayed desperately that she would not die, and that she would not pee her pants.

The shooter had to be using a suppressor, because all Anna could hear at each shot was a loud _whap_.  In her fear-addled state, the sound perversely reminded her of the way Sister Whatshername’s ruler used to slam across her desk back when she was in school. 

Trembling, Anna eased her hand back and snaked her Walther out of its holster, trying not to cry out when a red dot darted along the ground near her arm.  Another loud _whap_ , and dirt sprayed her in the face.  She couldn’t stay where she was. The shooter seemed to be bracketing her; eventually he would find her.  Moving as quietly as she could, she felt along the ground, and her hand brushed over the cool metal of the DVR.

Easing herself up to her knees, Anna grabbed the DVR and heaved it as far away as she could manage.  It landed with a clank, followed immediately by the _whap_ of another shot that sent the DVR flying through the air.  A muzzle flash near the tree line caught her eye, and she swung toward it, squeezing off half a dozen rounds in rapid succession.  The Walther was much louder than the suppressed rifle, but Anna heard a shrill cry of pain, closer than she expected.

She kept her gun trained on the spot, ears ringing from the report of her pistol.  She thought she heard the sounds of muffled cursing.  A man-shaped shadow rose from the trees and took off through the woods. Anna fired another shot in his general direction, more to keep him moving than attempting to actually hit him.  She listened as his footsteps receded into the forest and faded, then slumped over her knees, shaking like a leaf.


	5. Tell Me, Who are You?

Elsa cried out as Persie Norberg’s body crashed against her, taking her to ground.  He landed heavily on her, knocking the wind out of her and leaving her gasping for breath.  Something warm and sticky ran down her neck, and for a terrifying second, she was sure she’d been shot.  With a strength born of panic, she shoved his big body off and rolled onto her belly. 

The loud crack of gunfire echoed in the woods.  Elsa crawled over to the car and crouched next to the tire, trying to make herself as small as possible.  Her heart pounded frantically and her mind raced, random thoughts careening around her head as she fought her rising hysteria.  Who was shooting? Why? Why were they trying to kill her?   _Norberg said there might be leaks, but I thought this place was supposed to be safe!_

She shot a look over at Norberg’s body.  Bile rose in her throat when she saw the mass of bloody pulp where half the agent’s head used to be.  _Ohgodohgodohgodohgod_ … She fell forward onto her hands and knees, squeezing her eyes shut.  Her breath came in great gulps as she tried not to throw up.

A hand closed around her upper arm and yanked her to her feet.  She half-screamed and stumbled, but the grip around her arm tightened, keeping her upright.  “Keys?” a woman’s voice demanded.  A pistol swung across her vision and she tried to jerk away.  The hand squeezed painfully around her bicep and shook her.  “Do you have the car keys?!”

“N-no,” Elsa stammered.

The hand released her and she staggered, bumping against the car.  She saw a woman in braids digging through Norberg’s pockets.  The woman came up with the keys and turned back toward Elsa.

“Get in the car,” the woman ordered.

“W-What?” Elsa struggled to focus.

“Get in the fucking car!”  The woman seized Elsa by the arm, yanked the car door open and shoved her inside.  Elsa cried out, but the woman ignored her, slamming the door and running around to driver’s side.

The woman cranked the car, threw it into gear and stomped the gas.  They fishtailed out of the yard, spewing dirt and grass in their wake, and roared off down the dirt road.  Low branches slapped against the windshield, but they didn’t slow down.  The sedan bounced crazily along the rutted trail.  The woman snapped at Elsa to put her seat belt on.  Elsa dragged the belt across her body and fastened it.

They swerved onto the hardtop road, tires squealing.  The woman slowed the car to the posted speed limit.  She shot a glance at Elsa.  “Are you hurt?” she asked.  Elsa stared at her dumbly.  “Damn it, are you hurt?  Did you get shot?  ‘Cause if you’re shot, we’re going to have to take you to a hospital, and who the hell knows where a hospital is way the fuck out here, and they’ll have to report it to the cops because they’re required to report gunshot wounds and that will be a fucking mess-”

“No!” Elsa shouted.  She swallowed thickly and tried to collect herself.  “No,” she said finally.  “I’m not…I’m not shot.”

“Well, that’s good,” the woman said. “Because I have no friggin’ idea where we would find a doctor around here.”

The cell phone in the console between the seats buzzed, and Elsa blanched as the jarring lyrics of the ringtone echoed inside the car. 

 _We hate policemen, yes it’s true/_ _You can’t find justice, it’ll find you/_ _It’ll find you/_ _It’ll find you/_

Neither of them reached for it.

“That’s not my phone,” the woman said.

“It’s not mine either,” Elsa retorted, appalled at the ringtone.  Gruesomely ironic given what had just happened. 

The music faded away as the call was either cut off or went to voice mail.

The woman cleared her throat.  “So…you want to tell me what was going on back there?  Who’s the dead guy?”

Elsa stiffened in her seat.  “I’m not sure I should tell you that.”

“Are you in witness protection?”

“What?”

“Look, I checked out your…whatever he is… _was_ …when I was looking for the keys.  I know he was National Police.  He had a badge on his belt, and was wearing a Kevlar vest,” the woman said.  “Interesting ringtone for a cop.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Elsa said.  Her heart skittered as another thought occurred to her.  “How do I know you didn’t kill him?  I know you have a gun.  I saw it.”

“Yeah, I have a gun, and surprise, it’s actually legal.  Registered and everything,” the woman said.  She raised her shirttail to reveal the pistol butt in the waistband of her pants.  “But I didn’t kill him.  And if I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it back there, not dragged you out here.  What kind of fucking sense would that make?”

“Right.” Elsa spoke with a bit more confidence.  “So what do I gain by telling you anything?  If you killed him, you’ll kill me regardless of what I tell you.”

The woman scoffed and shook her head.

“And I don’t think you’ll kill me just for not talking,” Elsa went on, with more bravado than she felt.

The woman sighed.  She made a right turn, and they drove on in silence for a few minutes.  Elsa sank back against the seat, and began to shake as the enormity of what had happened sunk in.  A man had been shot down in cold blood right before her eyes.  And now she was alone in a car with an armed stranger who was taking her God knows where.  She edged closer to the door, reaching for the handle.

The woman activated the door locks.  “Sorry, can’t have you jumping out. You’ll kill yourself.”  Then she chuckled lightly.  “Huh, I never thought I’d be the one in control of the locks.”

“W-what?”

“This isn’t my first time in a cop car.  Usually I’m back there, though.”  The woman jerked her thumb at the back seat.

 _Oh God, she’s a criminal_.  Had one of Agdar’s ‘beneficiaries’ found out Elsa was talking to the NPs and sent this woman to kill her?  Or maybe she was taking Elsa someplace to be interrogated, to figure out how much she’d told them already.  Elsa’s mind spun with scenarios, not all of them completely rational.  She covered her face with her hands.

“Hey, look, I’m not going to hurt you,” the woman said, jerking Elsa out of her spiraling thoughts.  “I promise.  I just want to know what’s going on.  Preferably starting with who the dead guy is.”

Elsa dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, her nerves in complete tatters.  “I…he…I’ve never seen anything like that.  I’ve never almost been…”  Her voice cracked and she trembled violently.

She hunched over and wrapped her arms around herself.  Her clothes squished under her hands.  Elsa looked down and gasped.  Her suit jacket and blouse were soaked with blood.  Something stiff and tacky coated her neck and chest.  She touched her hand to her neck, and it came away covered in blood, and what could only be… _Oh my God, his brains_ … She gagged, her stomach turning.

“Pull over!” Elsa cried.

“What? No!”

“Please pull over, I’m going to be sick!”

The car skidded to the side of the road.  The woman hit the unlock button and Elsa shoved the door open, leaning over just far enough to throw up outside the car.  It was nothing but bile, acrid and harsh in her throat.  She wiped her sleeve across her mouth and hung limp for a moment, letting the seat belt support her weight.

A hand touched her back, stroking in soothing circles.  “You’re going to be okay,” the woman said in a soft voice.

The woman grasped the fabric of her jacket and tugged, easing Elsa back into an upright position.  Her hand was warm and gentle and stayed on Elsa’s back, stroking until her trembling stopped.  Elsa turned toward her. In the dim illumination of the car’s dome light, she saw a face that was younger than she expected, with dirt-smeared cheeks and a scattering of freckles across the bridge of the nose.  Disheveled copper-colored bangs fell across the woman’s forehead, not quite covering a bloody cut near her hairline.  Her sea-blue eyes looked at Elsa with sympathy.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said.  “Was he a friend?”

“No,” Elsa whispered. “But he was a _person_ , just doing his job.  And now he’s dead, probably because of me.”

The woman’s hand slid from Elsa’s back down to her hand, squeezing it lightly.  Elsa jerked away.  “I’m not going to hurt you,” the woman said.  “I’m going to take you someplace safe.”  She leaned across Elsa and shut the door, then put the car in gear.  As she pulled back onto the road, she said, “My name is Anna.  Anna Aarndahl.”

Anna glanced over at Elsa as they drove on into the night.  “No need to introduce yourself, Ms. Kjarensen.”

Elsa flinched at the sound of her name.

Anna continued, “I was hired to follow you.”

  

*******

 

National Police Inspector Kristoff Bjorgman drove up the dirt road leading to the cabin.  Something had gone wrong tonight, he could feel it in his gut.   He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and pushed harder on the accelerator, causing the car to skid and shimmy toward the trees.

“Easy, Kristoff.  We’re not that late,” Kai Haugland’s level voice came from the passenger seat.

The veteran agent’s calm demeanor was one that Kristoff normally tried to emulate, but tonight it seemed that everything had gone wrong.  A new lead in one of their other cases had come up, and it was time-sensitive enough that they couldn’t put off checking it out.  Then dealing with it had taken longer than he thought.  It had thrown off his plans to meet with Elsa Kjarensen, and he’d had to send Persie Norberg to make the pickup.  Now he couldn’t contact Norberg.

“I wonder why Persie’s not picking up his phone,” Kristoff said.

Kai shrugged.  “Maybe he left it in the car again.  You know how he is with it.”

“Yeah.”  _Which is one of the reasons Persie is still just an agent after twenty-five years_.  Kristoff pushed back his irritation.  Hopefully it was something as simple as a forgotten phone.

Kristoff slowed down as they approached the cabin.  He pulled the car around to the back and stopped short when he didn’t see Norberg’s car.

“Strange,” Kai said.  “They should be here already.”

“Something’s wrong,” Kristoff said.  He eased the car further into the back yard.  The headlight beams fell on a crumpled body near the back steps.  His stomach lurched. “What the -!”

Kristoff stopped the car and got out.  He cursed as he stood over the body.  If he hadn’t known Persie Norberg for a while, he never would have been able to identify him.  He checked for a pulse, more out of reflex than anything else, but there was no doubt the man was dead.

Kai drew his service pistol from his jacket.  “The back door’s open.”

“Let’s check it out.” Kristoff pulled out his own weapon.  

With Kai covering, Kristoff slipped through the back door.  Within minutes, they had searched the cabin.  No one was inside.  They made a quick sweep of the tree line to make sure no one was lingering, then holstered their weapons and returned to Norberg’s body.

“Oh Lord, Persie,” Kai said, his voice cracking a bit.  The burly agent looked as though he might break down in tears.  Kai and Persie had been close, Kristoff knew.  Friends and colleagues for twenty-something years.  He averted his eyes to give Kai some privacy.

 _What a fucking mess_ , Kristoff thought.  He’d seen violent death before.  It seemed to be an inevitable part of his job, but it had never hit this close.  Losing an agent, any agent, was bad enough.  Losing an agent on his watch, a man he was responsible for, could be the start of an unending nightmare.

“So what do we do now?” Kai asked.  He seemed to have regained control over his voice.

Kristoff shoved down his own budding grief.  “We have a crime scene, Kai.  We secure the area and call it in.”

“Locals?” Kai asked.

“Not unless we have to,” Kristoff said.  “We need to control the information flow, and if the local constable gets involved, the media won’t be far behind.”

“If the constable finds out, he won’t happy about being cut out of a murder investigation in his own jurisdiction,” Kai pointed out.  “If he is unhappy enough, he may call the media himself.”

“It’s the murder of a NP agent.  We have jurisdiction either way.”  That wouldn’t necessarily assuage the ego of the local constable if he was inclined to take offense, but at least there would be no jurisdictional arguments.

“What about Kjarensen?” Kai asked.

“We don’t know that she’s dead,” Kristoff said.  “Just that she’s not here.”

“There’s always the possibility that she’s the shooter,” Kai said.

Kristoff snorted.  “Not a chance.”

“Perhaps,” Kai said.  “Are you going to call it in to Sinclair?”

“Might as well,” Kristoff said.  “I have to report to her anyway, so why not have her get the wheels turning?  She can probably get Fucked out here faster than I can.” 

The National Police’s Forensics Unit was known by its unfortunate acronym FU, sometimes referred to simply as Fucked, with more than a little snickering on the part of the field agents.

Kristoff pulled out his phone and called Lieutenant Helga Sinclair, his immediate superior.  As he reported the situation, he mentally ran through his chain of command.  Sinclair would no doubt notify all of them, and Kristoff wondered how many would show up.  Most of them probably would, either out of morbid curiosity or the overwhelming desire to make sure their own asses were covered.  None of them would want the blame for a murdered agent falling at their feet. 

Kristoff deflected as many questions as he could, just passing on the basics of the scene to Sinclair.  Sinclair would get FU moving, along with the Violent Crime Investigation Division, or VCID.  Soon Kristoff would be up to his ass in acronyms, with enough alphabet soup on the scene to fill a primary schooler’s first lesson book.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the director-general showed up as well,” Kai added.

Acid burned in Kristoff’s stomach.  It was going to be a long night.

  

*******

 

A couple of hours later, the scene was crawling with agents and technicians, who had all managed to make out to the boonies without alerting the media.  The coroner declared the death and confirmed what everyone who had seen the body already knew – Persie Norberg had died from a gunshot wound, which had entered through his neck and exited through his face.  Techs from FU methodically worked the scene, gathering evidence and placing it in plastic zip seal bags.

Other agents milled around the area, not contributing but also being careful not to get in FU’s way.  Some of them had openly cried when they saw Persie’s body.  Kristoff felt that he didn’t have that luxury – he was the youngest agent present and Norberg’s supervisor to boot.  He knew that some had questioned him being put in charge of this case.  He also knew that most NP agents would never draw their service weapons outside the qualification range, and that all of them were wondering how they would have reacted if they had been in Norberg’s shoes.

Kristoff, Kai and their other squad members gathered around Lieutenant Sinclair.   Sinclair was a tall, severe-looking blonde with a no-nonsense attitude.  She was married to NP procedures and guidelines, and Kristoff knew he had to be able to justify his deviations from them if he wanted any support from her at all.

Sinclair had just started to talk when a tech from FU appeared with a pair of muddy boots in one hand.  Kristoff and Kai had seen the boots on their initial search but had refrained from disturbing anything that might be evidence.

“Someone was in the house,” the tech reported.  “There was no sign of forced entry and the alarm was turned off.  These boots were next to the back steps.  They’re women’s boots, size thirty-seven.  Whoever it was tripped the motion sensors for the cameras, because they’re all running.” 

“So we should be able to see whoever was in the house on the DVR?” Kristoff asked.

“The DVR’s gone,” the tech said.  “The closet was unlocked.  Nothing in there but a busted monitor, a switch and a bunch of dangling wires.”  She put the boots in an evidence bag and left to continue processing the scene.

 _Shit!_   Kristoff had been hopeful that the recorder would be able to give them a clue as to what might have happened, or at the very least, a starting point to find Elsa Kjarensen and ID the shooter.

“Tell me what you think, Agent Bjorgman,” Sinclair ordered.  Kristoff didn’t miss the fact that his boss had not addressed him by his proper rank, and he didn’t think it was a mistake.  The hint was anything but subtle: this was Kristoff’s responsibility and if he screwed it up, he would be back to the rank and file.

This case was the most important one Kristoff might ever handle, and was the biggest corruption case for the National Police in years.  Not too long after being assigned to the Anti-Corruption Division, Kristoff had received a phone call from Elsa Kjarensen.  After secretly meeting with her several times, Kristoff had been promoted and put in charge of a squad to investigate a crime that had the potential to sweep up some of the most prominent figures in Arendelle’s government. 

Several senior agents had objected to the promotion because he was relatively junior, but no one could argue that he wasn’t capable.  Kristoff himself would admit there was an element of luck – he had been the only agent available when she called.  He met with her, established a rapport, and she soon made it clear that she preferred dealing with him to the other agents.   So he was put in charge.  Many agents would die for a chance to break a case like this during their careers. 

Well, one had died for it tonight.

Kristoff gathered his thoughts.  “I think our first priority has to be finding out what happened to Elsa Kjarensen,” he said.

“You think Kjarensen might have killed Persie?” Sinclair asked.  “If so, I’ll get a bulletin out on her in about two seconds.”

Kristoff shook his head.  “No. My gut says she had nothing to do with it.  We just don’t know enough yet.  Check the blood and other trace.  If it only matches Persie, then we'll know she wasn’t hit as well.  We already know that Persie didn’t fire his piece.  And he had on his vest.  Doc’s initial assessment is a distance shot from a high-powered rifle, maybe a seven-six-two round.  That doesn’t fit a scenario with Kjarensen.  She would have been up close.  A handgun, not a rifle.  Something small that she could carry in her purse or a concealed holster.”

“You think he was between her and shooter?” Kai asked.

“Maybe.  The question then would be was he aware of the shooter?”

“So another person waiting for them?  Maybe inside the cabin?” Sinclair guessed.

“Fucked says there was no forced entry.  And if the shooter was in the cabin, why not kill them inside?”  Kristoff said.

“A rifle is an ungainly weapon to use indoors, especially in a small place like this.  My guess would be a shot from the tree line.  But why kill them outside and then go in the house?” Kai asked.

Sinclair ventured, “Maybe Persie and Kjarensen went in the house.”

Kristoff shook his head again.  “I don’t think so.  When we bring Elsa out here, we talk for at least a couple of hours.  So if they had gone into the cabin, Persie wouldn’t have been killed in the yard.  Kai and I weren’t that far behind them, maybe a half-hour or forty-five minutes, tops.”

“My guess is Persie got spooked somehow,” Kristoff went on.  He swallowed hard and walked over to Norberg’s body. “Based on the tire tracks, I think he was killed right after he got out of the car.  He pulls up, thinks something’s not right.  He gets out, pulls his piece, and gets dropped.”

Kai pointed to the torn-up grass and deep tire grooves in the yard.  “It’s been raining fairly heavily for the last few days, so the ground is soft, but you can see by how deep these gouges are that whoever took Persie’s car left in a hurry.  In fact, it looks like whoever it was ran right out of her boots.”

“You think they’re Kjarensen’s boots?  If she’s not the shooter, maybe she escaped in Norberg’s car?” Sinclair asked.

“Maybe, but hiking boots don’t fit with Elsa’s usual wardrobe,” Kristoff said.  “Persie picked her up near her office, which means she was probably still wearing her work clothes.  Suit and heels.”

“Maybe the shooter is a woman, and she took Kjarensen with her,” Kai suggested.  “We know that _somebody_ was in the cabin, because the DVR is gone.”

Sinclair paced.  “So we’re looking at a third party in the house.  The alarm was deactivated, which means that the third party had the alarm code.  How would an outsider have the code?”  She glared at Kristoff.  “Do we have a leak?”

Kristoff had been wondering that from the get-go, but couldn’t bring himself to admit it.  The implications of a leak were more than he wanted to consider at the moment.  “I…I don’t think so, ma’am.”

“Then how would the shooter know to come here at all?”  Sinclair demanded.

“It could be random,” Kristoff said.  “Burglary gone wrong, or armed robbery.”  It sounded lame, even to him.

“So how did the burglar get in?” Sinclair asked.  “Did you forget to activate the alarm the last time you were out here?  Did you leave the doors unlocked?”

Kristoff squirmed. “No, ma’am, we always lock it and arm it.  Kai can verify that.”

Sinclair stopped pacing, inches in front of him, and got in his face.  “So you have a dead agent, a missing witness, and a pair of boots that doesn’t belong to either one of them.  You have a deactivated alarm and no signs of forced entry.  Tell me how that doesn’t equate to an outsider being here.  Tell me how that doesn’t equate to a leak.”

Kristoff willed himself not to flinch under her cold blue gaze.  He had no other plausible explanation.  Guilt gnawed around the edges of his mind.  He was Persie’s supervisor, and he bore responsibility for him.  But part of him dwelt on the fact that if he had been with Elsa tonight, he would be the one being loaded into the back of the coroner’s wagon.  Then who would look after Bulda and Grandpabbie?

He took a deep breath, shaking those thoughts away.  “Ma’am, you asked me what I thought, so here it is.  I don’t think Elsa killed Persie.  I think it’s Erikksen. The guy has friends and contacts in the Castle and all over the city.  Somehow he found out that she was talking to us, and decided to have her eliminated.  We have to find her.”

“If you think she’s still alive, I’ll put out a bulletin on her,” Sinclair said.

“No,” Kristoff said.  “Erikksen’s too connected.  If we do that, we’re as good as telling him that we’re looking for her.  If she is alive, she may not be for long.  I think we have to keep it quiet.”

Sinclair regarded him thoughtfully.  “You don’t think Erikksen has already fled?”

“Unlikely,” Kai said.  “If he left now, he would be all but openly admitting guilt.”

“I don’t like it,” Sinclair said with a frown.  “We should put out a notice on Kjarensen and bring her in, as a material witness if nothing else.  Assuming she’s still alive.”

“Elsa is pretty smart, and tougher than she looks,” Kristoff said.  “If she’s still alive, Erikksen probably won’t find that out for a few days.  If she can hang on that long, we might have a chance.  But if we publically name her as a material witness, we might as well kill her ourselves.”

“You think you can find her on the down-low?” Sinclair asked.

“Yes.”  _I hope_.  What else could he say?

Sinclair studied him for a moment, long enough that Kristoff had to consciously keep from fidgeting under her gaze.  “All right, _Inspector_ Bjorgman.  This isn’t exactly textbook, but it’s your investigation.  You own it.”  She turned on her heel and walked toward the front of the cabin, where the director-general’s official vehicle had just pulled up.

Kristoff exhaled heavily, unsure if Sinclair had just given him a reprieve, or enough rope to hang himself.

“What are we going to do, Kristoff?” Kai asked.

“Find Elsa,” Kristoff answered.  “What else can we do?  Without her, we have nothing.”

“Do you really think she’s still alive?”

“Yeah, I do.  You haven’t spent as much time with her as I have.  I wasn’t kidding when I said she’s smart.  She can also be cold and single-minded, which are both traits that will help her survive.  If whoever was in the house wanted her dead, her body would be next to Persie’s.  I think she has a chance.”

“So where do we start?”

Kristoff picked up the evidence bag that held the hiking boots.  “Let’s see if we can find a Cinderella to go with our glass slippers.”


	6. Twenty Questions

Anna turned the NP car off the hardtop road into a small grassy clearing and pulled into a space at the back corner, away from the few other cars in the lot.  Her own car, an old Volvo sedan, was parked next to the sign that marked the entrance to the North Mountain trail system.  She got out of the car and took a quick look around, checking for any hikers that were keeping odd hours.  Satisfied that no one else was around, she went to the passenger door and opened it.

Elsa Kjarensen sat stiff and unmoving.  She hadn’t spoken a word since Anna told her about being hired to follow her.  The blonde woman’s shift in demeanor was remarkable – just minutes after retching and trembling at her brush with death, she sat cool and composed, her face expressionless. The only outward signs of emotion were the slight hunching of her shoulders and the occasional wringing of her hands in her lap. 

 _A real ice queen_ , Anna thought.

“Hey, come on,” Anna said.  “We’re changing cars.”

Kjarensen glanced up at her.  Anna offered her hand to help her out, but the woman ignored her, climbing out of the car on her own.  She stood still for minute, holding onto the car door like she didn’t trust her legs, then she nodded at Anna.

“Where?” she asked.

“Right there.” Anna led her over to the Volvo.  She opened the trunk and tossed in her backpack, then grabbed her sneakers and pulled them on.  She rummaged through a box and came out with a trash bag, a small towel, and a container of baby wipes.

“Here,” she said, handing the wipes to Kjarensen.  “Why don’t you use these to clean yourself up a little?  Get the…the” – she stuttered as she almost said ‘brains’ –  “stuff off you.  I keep a change of clothes in that tote bag there, so there’s a clean shirt if you want it.  I’m going to wipe down the cop car.” 

Kjarensen gave her a tight nod.  Anna grabbed a water bottle and went back to the NP car, using the towel and water to scrub it down as thoroughly as she could.  She was still wearing the latex gloves, so she didn’t think she had left any fingerprints, but better safe than sorry.  She wasn’t really worried about Kjarensen’s fingerprints – after all, they expected _her_ to be in the car - but she was worried about her own trace.  And the cop’s blood and brain tissue.

 _God, the smell_ …  Anna’s stomach rolled.  She bent over and swallowed hard, taking gulping breaths through her mouth.  She’d seen the…the _tissue_ on Kjarensen’s clothing, and gotten an up-close view of the blown-away NP agent.  She suspected that the man’s destroyed, one-eyed face would be a visitor in her nightmares for a long time.

 _Don’t puke, don’t puke._   She propped her elbows on her knees, keeping her head down until she was satisfied that her last meal would stay in her stomach.  Then she finished cleaning the car, wondering how much good it would ultimately do.  She easily could have missed something.  The National Police had all kinds of forensic resources, including equipment that could see things that were completely invisible to the naked eye.  The best she could hope for was that she might slow them down some.

Anna stuffed the towel and her latex gloves into the trash bag.   She returned to her own car, where Kjarensen had finished cleaning herself up and was now wearing the shirt from Anna’s tote bag.  The old denim shirt didn’t quite mesh with Kjarensen's power skirt and expensive shoes, but at least it was clean.  It also didn’t quite fit her; Anna couldn’t help but notice the strain on the buttons at Kjarensen’s bust.

“Better?” Anna asked, willing herself not to stare.  Kjarensen nodded.  Anna held the trash bag open, and the other woman deposited the dirty baby wipes in it.  “Clothes too,” Anna ordered.  The bloody jacket and blouse joined the baby wipes in the bag. 

“Do you have a first-aid kit?” Kjarensen asked.

“Yeah, right there.”  Anna pointed into the trunk.  “Why?”

“Your head.  You have quite a cut there.”  Kjarensen reached towards her, then pulled her hand back and gestured at her own forehead.  “It probably needs to be cleaned up.”

Now that Anna was thinking about the cut on her forehead, it was the only thing she could think about.  It throbbed right along with her pulse, and she winced as she probed at it.  Her fingers came away sticky with congealed blood.

Kjarensen had the first-aid kit out and was tearing open an alcohol wipe.  “Here, let me.” She dabbed at Anna’s forehead. 

Anna hissed at the sting of the alcohol, biting her lip as Kjarensen cleaned the cut and wiped the dried blood from around it.  She used a second wipe to clean along Anna’s hairline. 

Anna studied her face in the trunk’s dim light. Kjarensen’s finely chiseled features were soft in the shadows, brow furrowed as she scrubbed gently at Anna’s skin.  _Whoa, she’s really beautiful_.   It occurred to Anna that, in the time she had spent watching this woman, this was the first time she’d seen her looking anything other than perfectly put together.  Dirt smudged her face and tendrils of white-blonde hair had escaped the immaculate bun to fall in disarray around her cheeks.  But somehow even disarray managed to look good on her.

“That should do it,” Kjarensen said.  “It looks like the bleeding has mostly stopped.”

She put the bloody alcohol wipes into the trash bag.   Anna tied it off and tossed it into the trunk. 

“Okay, let’s go.”  They got in the car.

“Wait,” Kjarensen said.  “Can we call the police about…about what happened?  We should let someone know he’s there.”

“Wait, what?” Anna said.  “You can’t be serious!  How the hell would we explain that?”

“We can’t just leave him there,” Kjarensen insisted.  “It’s not right.”

“No.  No fucking way,” Anna said with a scowl.  “He was a cop.  He probably had a scheduled time to report in.  When he doesn’t report in, someone will check it out.”

“If you won’t call it in, I will.” Kjarensen dug her phone out of her purse.  “He didn’t ask for that.  He’s a person, maybe with a family, and it’s just not right to leave him out there for the crows.”

“Urgh!” Anna pounded the steering wheel.  So the Ice Queen had a conscience.  She reached over and closed her hand over Kjarensen’s, keeping her from making the call.  “All right, fine. But just wait a minute, okay?”

She got out of her car and ran back over to the NP sedan.  Wrapping her hand in her shirttail, she opened the sedan’s door, then leaned in carefully and snagged the agent’s cell phone from the console, powering it off as she jogged back to the car.

When she got back to the car, Kjarensen looked at her curiously.  “I’ll make the call on his phone,” Anna explained as she pulled her car onto the road.  “But not until we’re pretty far away from here.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one thing, cell reception sucks out here,” Anna said.  “And secondly, the NPs will for sure be monitoring his phone.  They can ping it off the cell phone towers, and I’d like to be well away from here when they do that.”

“Oh.”

They drove on in silence for a while, Anna’s fingers tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel while she pondered her next move.  _Why am I doing this? If I was really smart, I would dump this woman by the side of the road and drive right out of her life.  I don’t owe her anything.  She’s involved in some serious shit.  Whoever tried to kill her was loaded for bear, and if he tracks her down again, I’ll be in the crosshairs too.  One experience with being shot at is quite enough, thank you very much.  And now she wants to call the cops too?_

 _But you know she’s right_ , her own conscience niggled at her.  _He was a human being, and it’s not decent to leave him out there to be nibbled on by the bugs._

“Why did you park out there?”

The question pulled Anna out of her rambling thoughts.  “What?”

“Why were you parked out there?” Kjarensen repeated her question. “In that clearing?”

“Oh.  It’s a trailhead for hikers, so it’s not unusual for cars to be parked there for days or weeks at a time.  No one bothers them or calls the cops about them.  And if you cross the road and head straight through the forest for a couple of miles, you come out at that old cabin.”

“I see.”

Anna glanced over and found Kjarensen giving her an appraising look.  “Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity.  You said you were hired to follow me?”

“That’s right.”

“Who hired you?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean, I. Don’t. Know,” Anna said hotly.  “What is this, an interrogation?”

“How can you not know who hired you?” Kjarensen asked, incredulous.

“It means an anonymous client,” Anna shot back.  “It’s not unheard of.  Some people are embarrassed about hiring a private detective.”

“Is that what you are?  A private detective?” 

Anna could hear the contempt in her voice, and her temper flared.  “Yeah, I’m a private detective.  What about it?  It’s not a fancy job. I don’t wear Armani suits or Christian Louboutins, but I’m legit.  I work for a living, and I’m pretty good at it.”

Kjarensen held up her hands.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.  How did you come to be hired by this anonymous client?”

Anna shrugged.  “No idea.  They probably Googled ‘private detective’ and my name came up first in the search results.  I do have a pretty wicked web page.  It has my phone number and a ‘Contact Me’ box and everything.”

"The sarcasm isn’t necessary, Miss Aarndahl.” 

“Anna.  My name is Anna.”

“Fine.  Do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, _Anna_?”

“Not exactly, but I have a few theories,” Anna said.  “Getting shot at got my attention in a big way.”

“Someone shot at you?” Kjarensen said, astonished.  “Who?”

“The same person who killed that cop.  I shot back at him, and I’m pretty sure I hit him, but not bad enough to keep him from running away.”

Kjarensen sagged back against the seat.  “My God…” she mumbled, wrapping her arms around herself.

Anna still wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but she was sure as hell going to find out.  Her nerves and her patience were stretched thin, and while adrenaline would keep her going for a while, eventually she would crash hard. 

“Are you in witness protection?” Anna asked.

“You asked that before.  Why do you think that?”

“The setup at the cabin.  It’s out in the middle of nowhere, but has brand-new deadbolt locks and a security system.  Like a safe house.  Other than that, it’s a dump.  No way anyone is living there.”

“You went inside?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you get in?”

“I know a few tricks.”

“You broke in.”

Anna flashed her a grin.  “I thought it was a love nest.  I do a lot of work for divorce lawyers, and this case had a lot of the same vibes.  You showed up out there with that big blond guy, the good-looking one, and I thought for sure you two were having an affair.  But I couldn’t figure out why you would drive out to BFE just to have sex.”

“BFE?” Kjarensen asked.

“You know, BFE.  Bumfuck - ” Anna broke off at the other woman’s puzzled expression.  “Never mind.  Anyway, as soon as I got inside, I knew it wasn’t a love nest.  No one could knock boots on those nasty beds without choking to death.”

“Indeed,” Kjarensen murmured.

“So naturally, I’m more than a little curious about what you two actually got up to in that place for hours at a time.  Drinking bad coffee and talking?  Maybe cheaper than a bar, but a lot less fun.”  Anna gave her a sidelong look.  “Care to tell me, or just let me continue to draw my own conclusions?”

“I suspect you will continue to jump to your own conclusions regardless of what I tell you.”

Anna laughed.  “Look how well you know me already.  Might as well tell me.  I’m just going to keep pestering you.” 

No response.  Anna glanced over to see the other woman chewing at her lower lip, lost in thought.

“Strange place, that cabin,” Anna went on.  “It also had a bunch of hidden surveillance cameras and a digital recording system.” Anna glanced over when she heard the other woman gasp.  “What, you didn’t know you were starring in their home movies?”

Kjarensen’s open-mouthed shock answered that question.  She recovered quickly enough, though, and asked, “If you don’t know your client, how did you know to follow me?”

“Simple.  I got an email saying that the client wanted to engage me to follow someone, and that I would receive a cash advance and a file on the subject – you – in a few days.  Sure enough, a couple of days later I got a delivery with a big roll of cash and all your particulars.  The instructions were to keep track of all your movements.  So I have been.”

“I didn’t know I was being followed.”

“I told you, I’m pretty good at what I do.  Once I knew you were going to the cabin, I started getting there ahead of you.  Finding the place through the forest the first time was the hardest part.”  Anna paused for a moment.  “No offense, but other than your little trips out to the boonies, you just aren’t that hard to follow.  You don’t seem to have much of a life other than work.” 

Kjarensen sighed.  “I don’t.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ms. Kjarensen - ”

“You can call me Elsa.  I think you’ve earned that.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Sarcasm again.”

“Sorry, habit,” Anna said.  “Anyway, _Elsa_ , you’re very beautiful.  Hard to believe you don’t have men lined up to take you out.”

“Well, I don’t,” Elsa said coldly. She turned away from Anna and stared out the window.

 _And the Ice Queen is back._ Anna shivered.  She could swear the temperature in the car had just dropped twenty degrees.  _Poised, beautiful and completely unapproachable._

_What a waste._

_Wait, what?_

 

************************

 

Elsa watched everything roll by outside a car window for the second time that night.  The trees, the road, everything she had watched in reverse earlier that night.  It seemed that the only things different were the car and the driver, but in reality, everything had changed. How could her life have been turned so completely upside down in the course of a night?

_Don’t kid yourself.  You turned your life upside down when you picked up the phone and called Kristoff Bjorgman. And now a man is dead because of you._

Did Persie Norberg have a family?  She didn’t know and hadn’t asked, but he seemed like the fatherly type.  She closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer, surprised at how quickly the long-unused words came back to her, almost like a reflex.  Was she pleading for something in a nebulous afterlife to take care of him?  Or to look after whomever he’d left behind?   

Or maybe it really an unconscious plea for some type for forgiveness for herself.   

Was Agdar in danger as well?  If one of his corrupt councilors had found out about Elsa, would the next step be to eliminate Agdar?  Maybe she should call him, warn him that their secret was out.  Confess her betrayal.

_No.  If what happened tonight is any indication, contacting Agdar might get him killed.  Best to stay away. Maybe forever._

Then there was Anna Aarndahl.  She glanced over at the other woman, who was frowning as she played with the car’s temperature controls.  What was she going to do about her unlikely rescuer?  Anna was cocky and rash, but she also seemed to know what she was doing.  And she had a gun, a gun that she knew how to use, and more importantly, a gun that she didn’t seem inclined to use on Elsa.  _At least not yet_.

Elsa’s thoughts jumped to her safe deposit box, where she kept three items that were now more valuable than anything else she owned – a passport, a driver’s permit and a credit card, all under another name.  Agdar had insisted; it was foolish, he said, to not have a lifeboat if your ship starts to sink. 

But the bank wouldn’t open for hours.  What would she do until then?  Anna had said they were going someplace safe.  _Persie Norberg said the same thing, and look how that turned out._  

It appeared she would have to trust Anna, at least somewhat, until she could get to her bank.  The redheaded woman had proven herself plenty resourceful so far.  If they could get to a place where she could rest for a bit and let collect her thoughts, then she could make a plan.  Once she had her IDs and credit card, she could disappear and put the past behind her.  Elsa didn’t want anyone else to be hurt because of her, least of all someone who had already risked her life on Elsa’s behalf.


	7. Weaseltown at Night

Duke Weselton sat in the study of his elegant townhome in the upscale High Market neighborhood of Arendelle City, sipping at a snifter of cognac.  Sheaves of printed financial reports littered his lap, his hand idly flipping through the pages.  Oh, he kept with trends online, had a smartphone and a tablet for immediate access to every bit of market information that technology could provide, but he still preferred the feel of paper between his fingers.   

 _Hmmm…on the subject of paper_ … He thumbed back several pages, finding the data on Northern International’s wood-pulp interests.  Below expectations again.  His man in the forestry management agency had either developed a troublesome independent streak or was becoming slipshod in keeping an eye on the regulatory situation.  He made a mental note to send one of the Schlager brothers over to talk to him.

Weselton shifted a bit in his leather club chair and sipped his drink.  The people he had inside several of Arendelle’s bureaucratic agencies were having a bit more difficulty keeping things friendly for him lately.  He wondered if he and Agdar Erikksen were at cross-purposes in more ways than one.  Weselton and his colleagues had been concentrating on the Nasjonsting legislators that Erikksen had compromised, but what if the man had key bureaucrats in his pocket as well?   That could explain some of Northern’s recent regulatory setbacks, especially in the energy sector. 

Weselton sighed.  Didn’t these environmentalists understand that he didn’t like oil spills any more than they did?  Spills were bad for business.  But they were part of the inherent risks of drilling.  It already cost his company enough money to clean up the spills, repair platform damage, and get everything running again.  How could he be expected to pay the outrageous spillage fines as well?  Not to mention the ruinous workers compensation rates. 

He took a large swig of cognac to combat his growing agitation.  The sooner they got this matter with the succession straightened out, the better.  They needed a king who would take control of the bureaucracy and sweep aside the needless restraints on business, rather than a spineless chancellor who bent whichever way the wind was blowing.

There was a tap at the door.  “Come,” he called.  

Gustaf Schlager, his valet, poked his head in.  “Mr. Westergard is here to see you, Mr. Weselton,” he announced.

“Send him in.”

Gustaf opened the door to admit Hans Westergard.  Hans waited until Gustaf left, then spun on Weselton.  “Have you heard from Tweedledum?” he demanded.

"You mean Fritz,” Weselton corrected sharply.  “No, I haven’t.”

“Has Tweedle-dumber heard from him?” Hans jerked his thumb in the now-departed Gustaf’s direction.

“No.  _Gustaf_ would have informed me immediately if his brother had called in.  Why?”

“Preliminary report.  The NP agent is dead, but Kjarensen is missing.”

“What?” Weselton sprung up from his chair, scattering papers across the floor. “How did that happen?”

Hans crossed to the study’s small bar.  He uncapped a bottle of scotch and splashed several fingers into a crystal tumbler.  “My information right now is sketchy.  We need Tweedledum’s report.”

Weselton glowered at the younger man.  “I’m confident that _Fritz_ will call in as soon as he is able.  It may take some time for him to cover his tracks.”

Hans lowered himself into the chair at Weselton’s desk and sipped his drink.  Weselton gathered his papers, arranging them neatly on the side table before settling back into his leather chair and picking up his own glass.  He studied Hans over the rim of the snifter.

The young man was clever, Weselton had to give him that.  And well-connected, though on a shiftier, seedier level than Weselton himself.  He was also ambitious, almost frighteningly so.  Weselton presumed it was the natural inclination for someone who was the youngest of thirteen sons, scrapping for a place in the family business, and perhaps for a bit of fatherly attention.

The current operation had been Hans’ brainchild.  When Weselton had originally compromised Agdar Erikksen, his intent had been solely to increase his leverage over Arendelle’s economic environment, to manipulate it to suit the needs of himself and his associates.  He had given little thought to what would happen when King Haldor died.  After all, the king had not personally involved himself in governing Arendelle in over two decades.

It was Hans who had sought him out, the younger man already aware of Erikksen’s corruption and Weselton’s intended exploitation of it.  It was Hans who had brought his attention to the _Traktat av Norge_ and the consequences it dictated for Arendelle if there was no heir to the Crocus Throne.  It was Hans who suggested using the leverage they now had over the Nasjonsting to put a candidate of their choosing on the throne.  They would keep Arendelle independent and control it as well. 

The trouble was finding the right heir.  Not surprisingly, Hans had come up with the solution for that as well.  It was all a matter of paperwork, and with the right connections, a little arm-twisting, and some grease to the right palms, almost any paperwork was possible.

Weselton was still amazed that the people of Arendelle did not seem to be completely aware of what would happen to their country when the king died.  Most citizens treated the search for an heir as some sort of reality TV show – entertaining, but of little real import in their daily lives.  Granted, the treaty had been signed well over 150 years ago, but it was still a binding document.  The Castle had done a very good job of keeping the real significance quiet.

Otherwise, the citizens of Arendelle might be in a full-scale panic rather than entertained by the whole situation.

Hans’ cell phone buzzed.  He snatched it up.  “Yes?”

…“What?  How?”

…“No, you idiot, don’t take him there, they have to report those.”

…“Yes, that’s fine.  Call me immediately when he’s ready to talk.”

Hans terminated the call and turned to Weselton.  “Tweedledum has been heard from.  He called the emergency number and my man picked him up.  He confirmed my earlier information – the NP agent is dead and Kjarensen has disappeared.”  He rose and paced the study.  “So he took out one of Arendelle’s finest and missed the real target.”

“Oh, that’s not good,” Weselton fretted.  “The others will not be happy to hear that.”

“And to top it off, Tweedledum not only missed Kjarensen, but got himself shot in the process.”  Hans tossed back the rest of his scotch. 

Weselton choked on his cognac.  “By the agent?”

“No, apparently there was someone else at the cabin as well.  A woman.  That’s all we have for now.  We’ll need to get a full report and a description from Tweedledum as soon as he’s been treated and able to talk.”  Hans halted his pacing.  “This is a real fuck-up, Weselton.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Weselton sputtered. “What are we going to do?”  He jumped to his feet and grabbed Hans’ lapels.  “You have to find Kjarensen!”

“Calm down,” Hans ordered, jerking Weselton’s hands from his jacket and shoving him away.  “The situation is salvageable.”

“How?  The NPs will be all over this like a pack of rabid wolves!”

“Yes, and _their_ first priority will be to find Kjarensen.  We’ll know as soon as they do.  And I was right all along – they’re already looking at Erikksen as the suspect.”

Weselton refilled his cognac snifter, his hands trembling.  “So what do we do about Erikksen?”

“We let him know him know about Kjarensen’s betrayal.  He’ll start looking for her as well, and may lead us to her.  He’s a resourceful guy.”  Hans shrugged.  “Otherwise, we keep him on track.  He has a trip to Sornland in the morning, so he’ll be out of reach for at least a day.  If he gets to be too much trouble, well…we have everything we need from him.  His usefulness is coming to an end.”

“What about Kjarensen?”

Hans waved his hand dismissively.  “The NPs will find her.  It may take them some time, but they’re good at it.  When they do, we’ll be there too.  And we won’t fuck it up this time.  We get rid of Kjarensen and Erikksen, and we can move forward with the plan.”


	8. Under Her Skin

Anna stalked back and forth in front of the seawall separating the sidewalk from the fjord, Persie Norberg’s cell phone pressed to her ear. The waterfront shopping area was deserted this time of night, but Anna had driven around it three times before she decided it was safe to stop and call the police.

“That’s all I have to say,” she snarled into the phone.  She terminated the call.  _Asshole._

"What did you tell the police?” Elsa asked.

“Just the basics.  What happened and where.”

“What did they say?”

“Not much.  Just asked a bunch of questions trying to keep me on the line.  But if they’re tracking it….”

Elsa, who was leaning against the passenger door of Anna’s Volvo, jumped when Anna smashed the phone onto the sidewalk and stomped on it.

“…it will dead-end right here,” Anna finished.  She picked up the broken phone and examined it, then walked around the car and put it down behind a rear tire.  “Move,” she ordered, shooing Elsa away.

Elsa stepped back.  Anna got in the car and backed over the phone.  Then she switched gears and rolled forward over it for good measure.  When she got out, she saw Elsa watching her, wide-eyed.

“What?” Anna asked.

“I…I thought…that’s a bit of overkill, isn’t it?”  Elsa gestured at the now-flattened cell phone.

“Can’t be too careful,” Anna responded.  She picked up the phone and twisted it, breaking it completely in two, then grinned.  “You thought I was going to drive off without you, didn’t you?”

“No!” came the indignant reply.  Anna couldn’t quite tell in the streetlight’s yellowish glare, but thought she saw the other woman flush.

“Yeah, you totally thought I was going to leave you here.”  Anna smirked at Elsa’s scowl.

“I did not.”

Anna chuckled, oddly pleased to get a rise out of her.   She turned and drew her arm back, ready to pitch the phone into the fjord, when Elsa’s hand clamped around her wrist.

“Don’t,” Elsa ordered in a low voice that raised the tiny hairs at Anna’s nape.

“What?”  Anna tried not to flinch from the ice-blue eyes boring into hers.

“You were going to throw it in the fjord,” Elsa accused.

“Yeah, so?”

“Do you know how many toxins there are in cell phones?  Lead, mercury, and cadmium, just to name a few.  All of which are harmful to both humans and aquatic life.”

Anna goggled.  “Seriously?”

“Yes. Numerous studies -”

Anna wrenched her arm free.  “Wait, wait, wait.  You’re seriously gonna lecture me about the environmental impact of one busted cell phone?  Right now?”

“It’s not just that one -”

"This _one_ belonged to an NP who got his head blown off two feet away from you!”

Elsa winced, her arms wrapping around her middle, but pressed on.  “That doesn’t change the facts.”

Anna scowled and crossed her arms.  “No, it doesn’t.  And the fact is, we need to get rid of it.”

“We can rid of it without throwing it in the fjord,” Elsa insisted.

“A quick, _untraceable_ way to get rid of it,” Anna clarified.  

They stared at each other for a long moment.  Anna debated just getting in her car and leaving the irksome woman behind with the incriminating phone.

But she didn’t.

 _I can’t believe I’m doing this._   “Fine,” Anna huffed.  “I’ll find a dumpster.”

“Northern Industries handles Arendelle’s garbage.  If you put in a dumpster, it will end up in the ocean.  It’s the same outcome as throwing it in the fjord.  So no.” 

“Then where the hell do you want me to put it? …. Wait, don’t answer that.”

Elsa’s eyebrows shot up and she tilted her head to one side. Anna might have found it cute if she weren’t so exasperated.  She pinched the bridge of her nose.  “You know what…?  Maybe I should -”  She sighed.  “Never mind.  Just get in the car.”

They pulled away from the waterfront, Anna cursing under her breath as she tried to figure out an environmentally friendly was to dump the damn phone.

 

       

*********************

 

An hour or so later, Anna turned off into an alley and parked behind another car.  “Here we are,” she said.

Elsa’s eyes widened as she looked around the alley, taking in the trashcans, the dim lighting, the distant sound of raucous voices. “Is _this_ the ‘safe place’ you were talking about?”

“No, we’re just parking here.  We’ll walk to the safe place,” Anna said.  She grabbed her backpack out of the trunk and slung it over her shoulder.  “It’s my apartment, just so you know.”

“Where are we?” Elsa asked.  She stuck close to Anna, practically riding her back as they headed toward the end of the alley.

“Just outside University Plass.  It’s not a bad area, but it can still be a little sketchy, especially this time of night.”

“What do you mean, ‘sketchy'?”

“The occasional mugging.”  Anna shot a glance at Elsa and added, “Don’t worry, they usually pick on drunken students coming out of the clubs.”

“That’s not really comforting,” Elsa said.

They reached the end of the alley, and Anna held up her hand.  “Wait here.”

“You’re leaving me here alone?” Elsa tried to keep her voice level.  _After telling me about sketchiness and muggings?_

Anna’s eyes flicked over her face.  “I just want to check things out.  Make sure there’s nobody strange hanging around.”

“But -”

Anna pressed two fingers over Elsa’s lips, cutting her off.  Elsa jerked back.  “I’m faster without you,” Anna said.  “Stay in the shadows, and yell if anything seems weird.  I’ll be right back.”  The corner of her mouth quirked up, and then she was gone.

 _There’s nothing about this situation that isn’t weird!_ Elsa sagged against the wall of the alley.  Her fingers came up to where Anna’s had been, and she snatched them away with a frown.

Alone in the alley, the darkness seemed deeper, every sound magnified.  She swiveled her head, certain she’d heard the tap of approaching footsteps, but there was no one else around.  Elsa wedged herself further into the shadows, her heart pounding so hard she was surprised that shoes weren’t flying at her from the windows above.

Just when she was ready to flee the alley, Anna reappeared.  “Looks good,” she said.  “Let’s go.”

They turned out of the alley onto a cobblestone street.  It was deserted except for a couple of cats darting in and out of the shadows.  Large, colorful wooden houses lined each side of the road.  They looked older, but well-kept, standing in neat pairs with narrow walkways running between each set.

“Which one is yours?” Elsa asked.

“The big yellow one up there,” Anna said, pointing. 

They started up the hill.  “So you never got mugged when you were a student?” Anna asked.

“No.”

“Huh.  I heard being mugged outside a bar was like a rite of passage or something.”

“I didn’t go out much.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Cause it’s true.  I thought university was supposed to be the best time of your life.”

“That doesn’t mean it has to be spent in a drunken stupor!” 

Anna let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Hey, I’m just messing with you. Chill out.”

Elsa crossed her arms, pressing her lips into a tight line.  Anna was getting under her skin, she knew it and she was enjoying it.  But people didn’t get under Elsa’s skin.  Not normally.  She didn’t let them.  So what was it about Anna?

_Maybe I shouldn’t have made her drive around half the city looking for a recycle bin for the cell phone._

They reached Anna’s building.  As they climbed the steps to the front porch, Elsa noted the doorbell/intercom mounted next to the outside door.  She quickly located the button labeled ‘A. Aarndahl,’ and let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.  She still wasn’t completely sure about trusting Anna, but what other choice did she really have? 

It looked like whoever owned the house was fairly security-minded.  There was a video camera above the door, and a keypad set into an ugly steel handle, in jarring contrast to the colorful wooden door.  Anna saw her looking at the camera and said, “My idea.”

“Why?”

“Like I said, it can still be a little sketchy around here, and there are kids and older people living here.  It’s nice to be able to see if the person at the door is actually who they say they are.”  Anna punched a combination into the keypad.  Elsa heard the buzz of a solenoid, and the door clicked open.

They crossed the small foyer and climbed the steps.  Anna’s apartment was at the back of the house on the third floor.  Anna opened the door and flipped on the light in the front hallway.  Elsa saw a small monitor on the wall next to the door, which showed an astonishingly clear image of the front porch and the street directly beyond.  By the monitor was an intercom with a button the presumably opened the front door to a visitor.

Anna said, “There’s one in every apartment, so we can see who’s ringing the bell.”

The sound of loud clicks against the wood floor came from down the hall.  Elsa whipped around and froze at the sight a large white ball of fur charging toward them.  The furball barreled into Anna with a rumbling _woof_ , and then Anna was on her backside with a giant white dog laying slobbery kisses over her face.  Its tail beat against the wall in rhythmic whacks.

“Urgh…Marshmallow, geroff me!”  Anna shoved the dog away, laughing, and swiped her sleeve across her wet face.

The dog laid one last lick up Anna’s face, then turned toward Elsa, saliva dripping from its lolling tongue.  Elsa’s eyes widened in trepidation – the beast’s shoulder was level with her hips, its head huge and boulder-like.  It looked like it could swallow her whole.  She took a cautious step back. 

“Oh my God, that’s the biggest dog I’ve ever seen.  What breed is it?”  Elsa extended a wary hand for the animal to sniff.

“Careful, he doesn’t always like - ” Anna broke off when the dog butted his giant head against Elsa’s hand.  “He’s a Great Pyrenees.”

Elsa smiled and stroked the dog’s silky white fur.  “He seems swee – aaagh!” she yelped when his huge snout thrust into her crotch.

Anna snorted with laughter as the dog pinned Elsa against the wall and rooted his nose between her legs, rucking her skirt up around her hips.  Elsa glared at her, heat rising in her face.  She grabbed the dog’s head, trying vainly to push him away.  Finally Anna took pity on her and grabbed his collar.

“Come on, Marshmallow, you gotta at least buy her dinner first,” Anna laughed as she yanked the dog away.  “He likes you.”

“Apparently so,” Elsa muttered, tugging her skirt back down.  She thought she saw Anna’s eyes flick over her legs, and felt the blush race up to the tips of her ears.

“You should be flattered,” Anna said, dragging Marshmallow down the hall.  “He doesn’t always take to strangers.  But he’s a good judge of character.”

“How do you know that?”

“The first time I brought my ex here, Marshmallow tried to tear his arm off.  That should’ve have been my first clue.  Some PI I am.”  Anna flicked on another light to reveal a den cluttered with cardboard boxes, some still taped up, some ripped open with their contents spilling across the floor and furniture.  Anna tossed her backpack on the couch, where it dislodged a book and rattled against DVD cases.

“I’m sorry, I swear I’m not messy,” Anna said. “I mean, I’m messy, but not usually _this_ messy, I had everything packed up because I was going to move in with my boyfriend, but then I caught him screwing another woman and I had to move back, and I had to pay another security deposit and then I got this job and I just haven’t had time-”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Elsa cut off the verbal barrage.  “You don’t have to apologize.  I’m sure you weren’t expecting to have visitors.”

“Not hardly.”  Anna ducked her head and pushed her hair behind her ears.  Elsa was struck by how young Anna really was.  Even younger than Elsa, barely more than a teenager, by all appearances.  “Um…we need to talk.  Would you like something to eat? Or a cup of coffee?”

"I’m not sure food or coffee would sit well right now,” Elsa said.  “A cup of tea would be nice, if you have some.”

“Oh, sure.”  Anna rummaged through the kitchen and came up with a kettle and a container of teabags.  A few minutes later they were both seated at the tiny table in the breakfast nook, hands wrapped steaming mugs of herbal tea.  Marshmallow lay between them, his big body draped over both women’s feet.

“So,” Anna began, bobbing her teabag in her mug, “we might have a problem.  Remember how I told you about the cameras?  In the cabin?”

Elsa nodded.

“Well, when I went inside, I must have tripped something.  A motion sensor, maybe.  The cameras were running and they got a few great close-ups of me.  So I’m on the DVR in all of my ginger glory.”

Elsa’s stomach dropped.  “So they could be on their way here right now?”

Anna studied her over the rim of her mug.  “That might not be a bad thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a legitimate business, Elsa.  But my past isn’t exactly squeaky-clean, and I don’t really need the NPs poking around because I’m aiding and abetting.”

“Wait, you think I’m a criminal?”

“Are you?”

“No!”

Anna’s copper-colored brows shot toward her hairline.

Elsa gritted her teeth.  “I’m working with the NPs, not against them.”

“Working with them on what?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Then I’m sorry, I can’t help you.  Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”  Anna put her mug down and stood.  Marshmallow grunted in protest.

Elsa wilted, wrapping her arms around her middle.  Exhaustion and stress and terror conspired to sap her resistance.  She was never one who cared about being alone, but suddenly being alone was the last thing she wanted.  Even if her only companion was a freckle-faced redhead who seemed intent on setting up permanent residence under her skin. 

“Please, wait.”  She reached out hesitantly and touched Anna’s arm.  “How much do I have to tell you before you’ll help me?”

Anna pinched her lips into a tight line, but her gaze softened a bit.  She plopped back into her chair.  “That depends on what kind of help you want.  I’m not doing anything illegal.”

Elsa frowned.  “But…you broke into the cabin.  And took the agent’s car.  And destroyed his-”

Anna rolled her eyes.  “Fine, I’m not doing anything _else_ illegal.”

“And I wouldn’t ask you to.”

“Okay, well, that’s good to hear.  So we don’t have a problem.  Well, other than the whole thing with someone trying to kill you.”  Anna leaned back in her chair, her eyes locked on Elsa’s.

Elsa wrung her hands, trying not to squirm under Anna’s scrutiny.  “If you’re on the video, should we be sitting here?” she asked.

“I took the DVR with me when I ran out of the cabin.”

“What?  Why?”

Anna fiddled with one of her braids.  “I panicked.  I knew I was on the video.  Then the guy in the woods started shooting at me and he hit the DVR.  Then I shot him.” 

Elsa stared at her, dumbfounded by the nonchalant way she talked about _shooting_ another person.  Like she was a character in one of those American cowboy stories.  Elsa’s terror at the cabin had been almost crippling.  Was Anna was one of those people who was literally cool under fire?  Or was she just a bit crazy?  “So…the DVR was destroyed?”

“Maybe.  I didn’t exactly have time to check it, you know, not with trying to haul your ass out of there, but the NPs will find it.  If the hard drive wasn’t too damaged, then they’ll probably be able to get images from it.  If they do, then they’ll probably ID me.  I’ve been in the system.” 

“But it might take them some time?”

“That’s what I’m hoping.”  Anna fingered the cut on her forehead and winced. “My neck’s kinda stuck out here.  I think you owe me an explanation.”

Elsa swirled the tea around in her cup, staring into the tiny whirlpool of brown liquid.  It would be so easy to unburden herself on Anna, but so unfair.  What she ought to do was get up and walk out before she caused any more harm.  Before Anna became like Agdar, someone else whose life was left in ruins in Elsa’s wake.

“Earth to Elsa.”

She started when a warm hand closed around hers on the teacup and brought it back to the table.  Anna looked at her with a mixture of amusement and concern.

“Okay, look, I’m supposed to be the detective, right?  I’ll make some deductions and you can tell me if I’m right or wrong.  How about that?” 

When Elsa didn’t reply, Anna rose and started pacing.  “I only saw cameras in the front room.  Same place where the table, chairs, coffee, all that stuff was set up.  So that was the only room in the cabin being used. Well, that and the bathroom.  Now, I think I tripped some kind of a motion sensor when I went in, and that set off the cameras.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Elsa said.

“No, it doesn’t.  I had the access code to the security system.”

“So?”

“So…I disarmed it.  If the cameras were part of the security system, why were they on a separate sensor?  The way it was set up, the cameras would come on even when the guy with you disarmed the system.  Why do that?  Why record someone who is _supposed_ to be there?”

“I don’t know,” Elsa said, confused.

Suddenly Anna was looming over her, and a finger thwopped her on the head.  “Hello, because they wanted to have you on video without you knowing it!”

“Ow!”

“I know it’s late, but pay attention.” Anna resumed her pacing.  “We have a piece-of-shit cabin out in Bumfuck Egypt with a security system and a pretty fancy video recorder.  So what does that mean?”  She jabbed her finger at Elsa.  “I think the NPs took you there to interrogate you.  But maybe you’re not completely cooperative.  Which doesn’t really surprise me, even in the short time I’ve known you.”

“Hey!”

“Quiet, I’m thinking.”

“Well, don’t hurt yourself.”  Elsa crossed her arms and glared at the younger woman.

Anna flashed a pleased grin, but it quickly faded as she went on.  “So they have what they think is a safe place to question you.  But they’re not sure how difficult you’re going to be.  Or…they think someone might try to kill you.  So they record the interrogations, just in case you turn up missing later on.”

Elsa slumped over the table, head in her hands.  “Awfully prophetic of them, wasn’t it?  The whole ‘someone might try to kill me’ thing?”

There was the brief touch of a hand on her back, and then the creak of a chair as Anna settled back at the table.  “Look, I feel really bad about this, but…”

“But what?” Elsa asked, not looking up.

“I probably need to turn you in.”

“What?” Elsa jerked so hard that she kicked Marshmallow, who slunk from under the table and gave her a pathetic _woof_.  She lurched to her feet.  “I thought you were going to help me!”

Anna spread her hands in front of her.  “Just listen to me for a second!  I’m guessing the NPs have you in some kind of protective custody.  Maybe not in Witness Protection, but I bet that step is not too far away.  One of their agents gets killed, and I probably winged the shooter.  And I’m on the video.”

“And…?”

“If the NPs ID me, they will crawl up my butt with a flashlight.  I could get in big trouble, Elsa.  Losing my PI license might be the least of my worries.  Breaking and entering, obstruction of justice, aiding and abetting-”

“I told you, I’m helping them!”

“And how do I know that, if you won’t tell me what’s going on?”  Anna was on her feet as well, face flushed with anger.

They stared at each other for a long moment.  Then Elsa took a deep breath and settled herself back into her chair, regarding the other woman with a cool gaze.  “You know, Anna, you may have a problem that you haven’t considered.”

“Oh yeah?  What’s that?”

“What, exactly, are you planning to tell the NPs when you turn me in?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  The truth, maybe?”

Elsa leaned forward in her chair.  “All right, let’s have a look at the _truth_.  You were following me because someone that you don’t know and can’t identify paid you to do so.  So we only have your word for that.  You were able to follow me even though the National Police assured me that no one could do that.” 

Elsa tapped her finger on the table to emphasize each point.  “ _You_ somehow got the alarm code – I’m sure that the NPs didn’t share that with you.  _You_ were in that cabin tonight.  _You’re_ on the video.  The agent that was with me is dead.  _You_ fired your gun.  You _say_ you shot the shooter, but you don’t have any proof that anyone else was even there.”

Anna’s face whitened.  Elsa felt a pang of guilt, but pressed on relentlessly.  “So the proven facts are that I was at the cabin, you were at the cabin, you fired your gun and an agent is dead.  What conclusion would you draw?”

Anna slammed her hand on the table.  Marshmallow whined and retreated all the way across the small den.  “My little Walther can’t fire the ammo that killed that guy!”

“So you got rid of the other gun.”

“Then why would I take you with me?  Why wouldn’t I have killed you back there?”

Elsa shrugged.  “I’m not telling you what I think.  I’m merely speculating as to what the National Police might think.  It looks suspicious on the surface.  But if there are no red flags in your past, they might believe you.  They’ll probably just investigate you for a year or so, then drop it if they don’t find anything.”

She glanced at Anna, whose eyebrows scrunched into a single russet line across her forehead, her fists clenching into white-knuckled balls.  She wondered briefly if Anna might punch her.  _I wouldn’t blame her if she did_.

Elsa rose.  “You can drop me at NP headquarters if you want.  Do you know where it is?”

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” Anna growled.  “Sit your ass down before I knock you down.”

Elsa sat quickly, knees wobbly with relief.  Anna dropped back into the other chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose.  Marshmallow trotted back and nudged his mistress’ hand.  Anna stroked his big head for a few minutes before speaking.

“Look, I’m sorry I got angry.  But I didn’t ask for all this shit to be dumped on me.”

“I know.  Believe me, I never wanted anyone else to get dragged into this either.  But for what it’s worth…” she met Anna’s eyes, “if you hadn’t been there, I would probably be dead.  So…thank you.  For saving my life.”

Anna looked down at the table, but she pinkened under her freckles, a small grin creeping across her face.  It was kind of cute.

“So what do we do now?” Anna asked, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Elsa fingered her mug.  “I need to get away from here, away from the city.  I need some space to think.”

“What about the NPs?” Anna asked.  “If you’re working with them, I’m guessing you cut some kind of a deal with them?”

Elsa gave her a thin smile.  “No, actually we had not come to any kind of agreement yet.  And even if we had, I think I have grounds for renegotiation.”

“Still, they have to be looking for you.  They won’t be too happy if you skip town.”

“I don’t care.  I’m not all that pleased with them right now either.”

“What about whoever tried to kill you?” 

“I can think about that once I’m away from here,” Elsa said.  “I may end up going back to the NPs, but I just don’t know yet.”

“Where will you go?” Anna asked.  “And how are you planning to get there?”

Elsa hesitated, wary, and Anna leaned toward her.  “Elsa, this doesn’t work if you don’t trust me.”

“I… I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me,” Elsa said, worrying her hands together.

“I can take care of myself, thanks,” Anna said.  “Look, I’m taking a big chance on you.  The NPs don’t exactly investigate petty theft.  I’ve seen enough to know that they probably need you to take down some big-time crooks.  If I let their star witness walk away and they find out, where will I be?” 

Elsa thought quickly.  “What if I promise to come back if they can guarantee my safety?”

Anna’s eyes held hers.  “What guarantees that you’ll come back at all?”

Trust.  She wasn’t sure that she could see it in that steady sea-blue gaze, but that’s what it came down to in the end.  If she trusted Anna with her life, Anna would trust Elsa with her future.  But there were no guarantees for either of them.

“You could come with me.”  _Wait, what?_

Anna’s whole body started, her eyes widening.  “Wait, what?”

 _I must be crazy._   Aloud, Elsa said, “If the DVR wasn’t destroyed, then it’s only a matter of time before the NPs know you were at the cabin.  And what about the man you shot?  If he can identify you to whoever hired him, then your life is in danger too.”

Anna’s throat bobbed.  Clearly she had not considered that.  Elsa rushed on as another thought occurred to her.  “Anna, what if the person who hired you to follow me had you followed as well?  What if they used you to set up the shooting?”

“But…if they could follow me, they could follow you.  Why have me in the middle?”

“Maybe they wanted you to take the blame.”

Anna looked sick.  “Oh _shit_.”  She slapped a hand to her head and then was up and pacing again.  “Anonymous client.  Big wad of cash.  How could I have been so _stupid_?”  After a few minutes, she leaned her head back, puffing her cheeks and blowing out a long breath.  “So what’s your plan?”

Elsa worried her lower lip.  Trust.  _Here goes nothing._    “I have a safe deposit box at my bank.  There’s some cash in it, and an ID and credit card with another name on them.  They should take us as far as we want to go.”

“Okay.  Then what?”

“We head north.”

“Where north?”

“I have a place in the mountains.”

“Wow, okay, that’s cool.  Wait, is it in your name?  Because they can check for that, you know.”

“No, it’s actually owned by a corporation, of which I am an officer under my other name.”

Marshmallow came over to lean against Anna, and she bent down to pat him.  “How long will we be gone?”

Elsa thought for a minute.  How long to flee to a new life?  “A few days.  A week at most.”

Anna knelt down and buried her hands in Marshmallow’s ruff, scratching and rubbing.  “Okay, I guess I can ask the kid downstairs to look after Marshmallow for a few days.  You’ll like that, wontcha, boy?  You like Olaf, dontcha?”

Marshmallow let out a rumbling woof, indicating that he did indeed like Olaf, whoever that was.

“Okay, well, I guess that’s decided,” Anna said, getting to her feet.  She retrieved a leash from a hook near the front door and snapped it on Marshmallow’s collar.  The dog immediately began whining and spinning in excited circles, almost upending Anna.  “I need to take Marshmallow out to, um, take care of his business.  You should get some sleep.  Bedroom is through there,” she finished, pointing. 

“I can’t take your bed,” Elsa protested.  “Where are you going to sleep?”

“Oh, it’s fine, I’ll sleep on the couch,” Anna said, waving her hand.  “It’s pretty comfortable, I’ve actually slept there a lot, you know, falling asleep playing video games, or whatever, and you’re my guest, so you should have the bed to yourself, not that I wouldn’t want to sh – and you know what, I need to shut up and take the dog out, so I’ll see you in the morning, except that it’s already morning, so I guess I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Anna slammed out the door with Marshmallow in tow, leaving Elsa in stunned silence, with a twinge in her stomach that she couldn’t quite identify.  _Well, that was…strange_. 

She retreated to the bedroom and collapsed on the mattress, fully clothed.  The stress and exhaustion of the night’s events hit her like a freight train, and she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

 


	9. The Two Types of Secrets

“…the victim has been identified as Baron Eric Solholm of Grøntfjell.  Baron Solholm and his companion, who has yet to be identified, were the apparent victims of an armed robbery-”

 Looking up from his newspaper, Agdar grabbed the remote and turned up the TV’s volume.  He had been half-listening to the morning news, as was his habit as he prepared for his day, but the name had caught his attention.

“… Solholm claimed to be a distant cousin of King Haldor, and was in Arendelle City to present himself as a potential heir to the throne.  The Royal Press Office-” 

Agdar turned off the TV.  Tragic as it was, Solholm’s death had probably spared the kingdom a wealth of embarrassment.  The man had been a tabloid fixture in his youth, jetting all over the Continent, racing, gambling and screwing any woman he could coax into a horizontal position.  The Solholm fortune, already in steep decline when Eric inherited, had been completely squandered.  Only the Solholm manor house in Grøntfjell and a mountain of debt remained.

But then again, nothing was proven.  Solholm hadn’t lived long enough after making his claim for his lineage to be verified.  Agdar would’ve heard if it had been.  And since the man had left no known progeny, the Solholm line was at an end.  There would be no further investigation.

Agdar filled his coffee cup and folded his newspaper, tucking it into the Infernal Briefcase that Weselton had given him.  He cursed the scrawny troll for backing him into this corner, and himself for allowing it to happen. 

In fairness, he really had no idea how Weselton had stumbled upon his bribery scheme.  Agdar had been very cautious, especially at first.  He had used his extensive knowledge of both the Nasjonsting and the Royal bureaucracy to analyze the players who might be capable of furthering his goals, and determined whether or not they could be bought.  Many members of the Arendellian legislature were wealthy, but most were not, and serving in the Nasjonsting was often a financial nightmare.  Councilors had to maintain two households, and living in the capital was not cheap.  It could also be lonely, as their families usually did not accompany them.   Bureaucrats in the Royal agencies were even more susceptible – they were, as a rule, overworked, underpaid, and unappreciated.

The carrots Agdar dangled were small at first, but quickly grew larger if the target showed any interest.  And he had chosen wisely, because he had never had a target not agree to trade influence and votes for the promise of rewards in the future.  Agdar had initially been surprised at the easy agreements to delayed gratification.  In his experience, most people were impatient and wanted their rewards now.  But then again, the retirement packages that Agdar had promised his most important marks would be almost impossible to exhaust.  Perhaps people were more far-sighted than he gave them credit for.

Well, far-sighted when it came to their own self-interests.  If they showed the same far-sightedness in their considerations for Arendelle, he wouldn’t have to bribe them in the first place.

A knock at the door interrupted his musings.  He opened it to admit a muscular, clean-shaven man, whom Agdar knew only as Gustaf.  To all appearances, Gustaf was his driver, an outward symbol, along with his exclusive Old City townhouse, of Agdar’s enormous material success.  In reality, Gustaf was one of Weselton’s men, keeping an eye on Agdar and making sure he carried out the task of bribing councilors with his own money, and now spying on them for blackmail.

To Agdar, Gustaf was the symbol of his both his moral and material decline.  The bribery had cut into much of his hard-earned wealth, and his servitude to Weselton had taken him right back to the world he come from – Arendelle Castle.  A world of royalty and obligation, where pampered lifestyles existed side-by-side with crushing expectations.   

Agdar had observed this complicated world from a perspective that was both intimate and remote – his family had been part of the Arendelle Castle staff.  Young Agdar had followed his valet father around the stately rooms, laying out clothes, shining shoes, and generally seeing to the comfort of his betters.  He watched his mother help prepare and serve both lavish dishes for state dinners, and small snacks that she snuck to the staff children and to young Prince Kristen.  Agdar and the prince were of an age, and became as close as two boys could.  They spent much of their young years running and playing around the Castle grounds, and their wild years together drinking, chasing skirts, and driving fast cars. 

But despite his close friendship with Prince Kristen, Agdar had not felt that he entirely belonged to himself until he’d left the Castle and built his own success.  And now that success was in decline.  It was a decline that, if Agdar was honest with himself, had been inevitable from the day that he had served as a pallbearer at Kris’s funeral. 

The day that King Haldor had traded governance for mourning.

Gustaf stood waiting, ready to whisk Agdar away to do the bidding of a loathsome man who was himself descended from royalty.  Agdar hated the irony too much to appreciate it.  He waved Gustav into the breakfast nook, offering coffee with a raised eyebrow and point of his finger. 

Gustaf declined the coffee, then said, “He sends his respects.”

“Accepted,” Agdar replied, reseating himself at the table.  “And please send Mr. Weselton my most profound wishes that he not get one day older.”

Gustav frowned.  Agdar could almost hear the gears grinding in his head as he processed the statement.  Finally he seemed to decide that ignoring it was the best option.  “There’s been a development that he thinks you should be aware of,” he said.

“And what is that?” Agdar asked.

“Elsa Kjarensen is working with the National Police to bring you down.”

Agdar felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut.  He shoved his breakfast plate away, afraid for a brief instant that he would puke all over himself.  “What in the hell are you talking about?” he managed.

“Mr. Weselton’s asset inside the National Police has discovered this.  He thought you should be aware.”

“You mean the NPs entrapped her?  Forced her to work for them?”  _And doesn’t that sound familiar?_

“According to our asset, she went to them voluntarily.”

Agdar couldn’t fathom that.  What reason would Elsa have to go to the NPs, other than coercion?  Her feelings on the ecological and economic issues they lobbied for were even stronger than his.  She was young, but not naïve. She knew what was at stake.  They’d talked about the hypothetical, about what might happen if they fell under suspicion, but she’d never given any indication that she might turn on him.

Then again, Elsa was used to getting her way, and could be ruthless at times.  Was this her way of finding out why he had shut her out?  Their last meeting had been full of epithets, accusations and tears.  He’d lied to her.  He’d ordered her out.  Had he pushed her into the arms of the National Police? 

“Tell me everything," Agdar demanded.

Gustaf told him a wild story about a night at a cabin, betrayal, gunfire, and death, a tale that was likely a mixture of truths, half-truths and outright lies.  Or maybe not total lies - Gustaf wasn't intelligent enough to keep such things sorted out. But then again, he was probably just repeating what he had been told.  Agdar would have to sort those out later, but for now he asked the question that was uppermost in his mind:

“Where is Elsa now?”

“Unknown.  She’s disappeared.  The National Police are looking for her.”

“But she’s still alive?”

“At the time of the last report, yes.”

So Elsa was on the run.  When he had first brought her in on his scheme, he had insisted that she make a plan to bail out.  She had assured him that she had, but their mutual agreement was that they would keep their plans secret from each other.

Agdar swiped his hand down his suddenly sweaty face.  “How much has she told them?” he asked. 

“Not enough to warrant an arrest or prosecution.  The source believes she has only told them about the way your bribery is carried out, but has not actually given them any names yet.  Except yours, of course.”

Of course.  Elsa was too smart to give up everything at once.  She would string them along, offering just enough to keep them interested.   That wouldn’t stop them from following up on whatever she had already told them, but the targets were hardly dishing out lutefisk from a street corner food cart.  The NPs would have tread lightly.

“And is Weaseltown looking for her as well?”

“That’s not really your concern, Mr. Erickksen.”

Agdar just stared at him.  Had the idiot really just said that? 

“The hell it’s not,” he finally retorted.  “I’m the one looking at the dungeon if the NPs find her first.  Should I be making plans to leave the country?” 

“Your instructions are to continue on as planned,” Gustaf said.  “That means catching your train to Sornland this morning.”

“Yes, of course.  God forbid I should refrain from doing my part in helping Weaseltown destroy the country.”

Gustaf furrowed his brow a bit and then shook his head.  “We need to leave in ten minutes for you to catch your train.”  He picked up the Infernal Briefcase and walked out the front door.

Agdar watched him go.  Seized by a sudden rage, he grabbed his breakfast plate and flung it across the kitchen. The plate shattered against the pantry door, salmon and eggs and tomatoes splattering in a colorful mishmash across the polished wood floor.  He shoved his fingers through his hair as he stared at the mess, and his first coherent thought was that his housekeeper was going to be really pissed when she got here.

He shuffled into his study and dropped into an armchair.  Slumping back against the cushions, he studied the painting hanging over his desk.  It was a picture of young woman, clad in a royal blue bunad with a magenta cloak, standing at the edge of a forest high up in the mountains.  The painting was well over a hundred years old, done by one of Arendelle’s most famous artists.  It had hung in a private gallery in Arendelle Castle for most of its existence, making its way to Agdar only a month after Kris’s funeral.  No explanation, no note. 

The brilliance of the colors, the striking contrast of the vibrant young woman to her stark surroundings, the subtle genius of the brushstrokes – it never failed to mesmerize him.  The spark of her eyes, the solemn determination in her face, each detail still so vivid over a century after the paint was first put to the canvas.  The painting was his most prized possession.

He would have to sell it soon, and probably his house as well.  He was running out of money to fund his retirement scheme, and the painting and the house both would fetch enormous sums.  He felt guilty that he hadn’t already sold it, but it was soothing and beautiful, one of the few things that still brought him pleasure.  Perhaps he could sell the painting back to the royal family, and when he inevitably went bankrupt, he would be able to enjoy it once again.

Assuming he could get the Castle to hire him as a valet.

Assuming he didn’t end up in prison, or dead at the hands of Weaseltown and Westergard.

Agdar rose and went over to the painting, stretching his hand toward it.  His fingers didn’t quite make contact with the canvas, but hovered just over the face of the girl.  Not for the first time, he imagined he could see Elsa in her.  The stubborn set of the jaw, the resolve reflected in the large blue eyes, and in just the right light, the way the girl’s strawberry-blonde hair took on a golden cast, and he thought of Elsa.

Elsa.  He still remembered when he first met her, at a lecture at Arendelle University.  She was nineteen, with two graduate degrees already.  Brilliant.  Beautiful.  Reserved to the point of almost total social ineptness.  Her Ice Queen demeanor was already well established among the university’s graduate science departments.

Yet ten minutes after he coaxed her into a conversation, he knew she had what it took to thrive in his business.  A few months of working with her proved his instincts correct.  Intense about the same environmental issues as he was, she had an unmatched ability to get her message across without being overbearing, or even overtly pushing it.  She could stroke an ego and deflect an advance with the same practiced ease, and if she came across as a bit…well, _chilly_ …it certainly hadn’t diminished her effectiveness.

She was the gifted, clever daughter he would never have.  But how would he protect his little girl now?  He stared at the young woman in the painting with all the anguish of a desperate parent who sees death bearing down upon his precious child.

But protect her he would.  Nothing Weaseltown or Westergard could say would convince him that Elsa had betrayed him.  But she was now in their way, which put her life in danger.  He had no doubts that Weselton and Westergard were behind the killing of the NP agent, regardless of Gustaf claimed.  He had to find her, and not just for her or for himself.  He had to find Elsa for everyone in Arendelle.

 

* * *

 

Kristoff stretched and yawned behind his metal desk.   His spartan office, furnished in the style that Kai had dubbed Government-Issue Ugly, was located in a squat concrete and glass building in the Virkshomet area of Arendelle City.  The building, a mile or so from NP Headquarters, was one of several places where the National Police rented office space for agents who were involved in sensitive investigations.  Since almost every investigation the Anti-Corruption Division conducted was sensitive, Kristoff spent far more time in rented offices than he did in his assigned cubicle back at HQ.  The targets of their investigations were not what Kristoff thought of as ODCs, or Ordinary Decent Criminals.  They were usually people that made the national news and appeared on the front pages of the major dailies, people whose positions of public trust made their crimes all the worse.

Understandably, the National Police did not want such investigations run in the crowded Headquarters building.  Agents were as prone to shop talk as any other type of worker, and even the most innocuous comments about a sensitive case could lead to disastrous leaks.

Kristoff rubbed his eyes.  Every part of him protested his lack of sleep: his aching back, his gritty, bloodshot eyes, his dry sinuses, his scratchy throat.  But at least he was alive.  Unlike Persie Norberg.  At least no one was knocking at the door of _his_ house, offering sympathetic looks and mostly meaningless platitudes to Bulda and Grandpabbie.

He had called Aggie Norberg as soon as he left the crime scene at the cabin, telling her that he needed to see her.  Kristoff hadn’t said why he needed to see her, but Aggie knew.  Kristoff had heard it in her voice, in the strain and resignation of the few words she had managed to get out.  And he had seen it in her face as soon as she opened the door of the Norberg’s small house in a working-class area on the outskirts of the city.

Going directly from a crime scene to the home of a murdered agent was not exactly by the book.  Nor was doing a next-of-kin notification without being accompanied by an agent of higher rank.  The NP leadership wanted to show that they cared when they lost one of their own.  Technically, Kristoff should have waited for Sinclair, or Sinclair’s boss, to go with him.  But he had waited for no one.  Persie was one of his agents, and Kristoff’s responsibility for him included telling his family that he was dead.

He hated every minute of it.  But it had to be done, and ripping the bandage off was a lot easier than slowly peeling it off. 

He had offered what comfort he could to Aggie Norberg.  She didn’t seem to blame him for her husband’s death, despite the fact that he could tell her little about the details. _I’m sorry, Aggie – the investigation is ongoing._   Then he could only stand stiffly as her shoulders curled in and her body shook with sobs.   The teenage son was a whole different story.  He had held his mother and glowered at Kristoff from behind unshed tears, and Kristoff could almost hear the silent curses being heaped on his head.  There was plenty of blame in the boy’s furious blue eyes.

Kristoff could hardly disagree. 

A rap on the doorjamb had him lifting his head.  Kai stood in the doorway.  He looked as tired as Kristoff felt, though Kristoff noted that the older man’s suit was still crisp and unwrinkled.  Kristoff couldn’t seem to manage that on his best of days, and he was suddenly self-conscious about his rumpled trousers and untucked shirt, and very aware of the fact that he hadn’t showered in more than twenty-four hours. He took a surreptitious sniff in the direction of his armpit.  _Yuck_.

Kai set a cup of coffee on Kristoff’s desk and settled into a chair with a cracked vinyl seat.

Kristoff nodded his thanks.  “I could really use some good news, Kai,” he said, taking a careful sip of the hot black liquid.

“Well,” Kai began, crossing his legs as he sipped his own coffee, “I suppose that part of my news could be construed as ‘good.’”  

Kristoff made a ‘give it to me’ motion with his hands.

“FU found the DVR.”

Kristoff smiled for the first time in…well, forever, it seemed.  “That’s great news!”  Then he saw the small shake of Kai’s head.  “No?”

“It has a bullet hole in it.”

Kristoff’s shoulders sagged.  “Useless?”

“We don’t know yet.  FU took it to the tech people.  The hope is that the data storage part will be relatively undamaged, perhaps allowing for retrieval of at least part of the video.  I left them instructions to call you as soon as they know something.”

“Oh.  Okay.  Thanks.”

Kai shifted in his chair.  “Did you see Aggie?”

“Yeah.”

“How did it go?”

“It was rough,” Kristoff admitted.  He studied his coffee briefly before taking a gulp.  The hot liquid scalded his mouth, and he struggled not to spew it all over his desk.  He forced it down, trying not to cough.  He partially succeeded, getting away with a quiet hack before he swiped his sleeve across his mouth.  “What about you?  Have you been to see her yet?”

“No,” Kai answered.  “I plan on going out there - ”

A sharp rap at the door interrupted him.  They looked over to see Captain Jan Chifu standing in the office doorway.

Both men jumped to their feet.  Kristoff tried to shove his shirttail into his suit pants, dismally noting a coffee stain on his white dress shirt as he did so.  He buttoned his suit jack to try and hide it, but the crease between Chifu’s’s brows and twitching of his scraggly moustache told Kristoff that his disheveled appearance had already been noted.

“Agent Haugland, would you excuse us, please?” Chifu said.  “I need to have a word with Inspector Bjorgman.”

“Of course.”  Kai gave him an almost courtly nod.  “I’ll catch up with you later, Kristoff.”

“Sure.”

Kai left, and Captain Chifu closed the office door.  “Sit, please, Inspector Bjorgman, and let’s get down to business.”


	10. Cold Feet and Warm Hugs

Elsa woke with a start.  Strange bed. Strange room.  The sound of drawers opening and closing.   _Where am I?_

She rolled to her side.  A naked woman stood in front of a dresser, and all Elsa could see was a bare female backside.  A quite toned backside, some part of her noted before a pair of white panties slid up to cover it.  Elsa’s eyes moved up a slim back that melded into a pair of freckled shoulders, and above those, a slender neck with damp auburn hair twisted into a messy bun at the nape.  As she watched, dazed, a green sports bra was tugged into place over those narrow shoulders.

Then it came rushing back.  Anna. Anna’s apartment. The cell phone.  Driving around the city. The terror. The headlong flight from the cabin.  

Persie Norberg’s destroyed face.

“Oh, God…” Elsa croaked, covering her eyes with her arm.  

There was a startled “Oh!” and a loud thump, followed by a stream of muffled curses.  Then Anna climbed to her feet next to the bed, hauling a pair of jeans up over her thighs.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” she said.  “I thought I could get in and shower and get out and let you sleep a little longer.  You seemed kind of comatose.”

“It’s all right,” Elsa said.  She struggled to sit up. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and every part of her body ached.   _I’m too young to feel this old_.  She swung her legs over the side of the bed, setting off a little wave of nausea.  She held her head in her hands until it passed.     

“You okay?”

“Yes, I think so.”  Elsa looked up to see Anna finish pulling a t-shirt down over her belly.   Her own stomach swooped a bit.

“You sure?  You look a little pale, well, paler than you usually are, even though that’s saying a lot, you’ve got the fairest skin I’ve ever seen, not that that’s bad or anything, it’s really pretty, and - ”

“I’m okay, really,” Elsa cut her off.  Anna didn’t look all that great herself.  Elsa took in her pallor and the dark circles under her eyes.  Bluish bruising had formed around the cut on her forehead. _I should’ve taken the couch and made her sleep in her bed._

“Okay, good.  I’m going to run out and take care of some stuff, make arrangements for Marshmallow, that kind of thing.”  Anna shook her hair out of the bun and started braiding it with quick, sure fingers. “Why don’t you grab a shower?  You’re welcome to borrow any of my clothes, since yours are kinda…”

She made a vague gesture at the dirty, rumpled skirt that Elsa still wore.  Elsa’s pinched feet reminded her that she hadn’t even taken her shoes off before she collapsed into the bed.  Every part of her felt grubby and worn out. A shower sounded like the next best thing to heaven. “That sounds…good.  Thank you.”

“Okay, well, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Anna said as she headed out of the bedroom.  “There’s coffee in the kitchen if you want some.”

Elsa watched her go, then slipped off her heels and shuffled into the bathroom.  “Oh, hell…” she mumbled when she saw her wan face in the mirror. Bloodshot blue eyes stared back at her.  Half of her hair had fallen out of its bun, and stuck out in ten different directions. It was a wonder Anna hadn’t passed out from fright when she saw her.  She sniffed.

_Ewww.  Even if Anna passed out, my stench might revive her._

She turned on the shower and stripped off her clothes.  Looking around for a towel, she realized that the bathroom was in the same state of half-unpacked disarray as the den, bottles of shampoo, shower gel and other toiletries crammed into boxes with cleaning supplies and washcloths.  She found a towel under the sink, then stepped under the warm water, trying to wash away the dirt, the blood, the smell of the previous night’s events.

Too bad the water couldn’t wash away the memories.  Persie Norberg’s remaining eye seemed to stare balefully back at her whenever she squeezed her own eyes shut.

Suddenly her chest heaved and she sank to her knees, her body racked with sobs.  The adrenaline and terror were gone, leaving only grief and crippling guilt. Water cascaded over her as she trembled on the floor of the tub.  She covered her face with her hands, trying to stifle the braying cries that might bring Anna running.

When she finally got control of her shuddering breathing, Elsa found herself with her forehead pressed against the bottom of the tub.  Cold water drummed against her back, and there appeared to be a thin layer of frost over the porcelain. _That’s odd…_ She brushed a finger over it and the frost dissipated.   _Wow.  I wonder what this tub is made of._

By the time Elsa got to her feet, there was no sign of any frost, and she wondered if she had imagined it.  The hot water was long gone, the shower now cold, but not unpleasantly so. Elsa quickly washed her hair and body.  Hopefully the cold water would help with her eyes and nose, which she knew had to be red and swollen from her tears.

By the time she dried off and returned to the bedroom, she felt almost human again.  A brief search of Anna’s dresser and closet yielded a pair of jeans and a suitable blouse, but she quickly discovered that Anna’s proportions were a bit different from her own.  The jeans would not fully close over her hips, and the blouse strained across her chest, the buttons hanging on for dear life.

_If one of these buttons pops off, it could injure someone._

A few more attempts and she finally settled on a pair of yoga pants and a plain white t-shirt.  She took a pair of sneakers from the closet; at least she and Anna shared a shoe size. Weaving her hair into a single thick braid, she headed for the kitchen, following the enticing smell of fresh coffee.  She had just poured herself a mug when Anna appeared from the front hallway with Marshmallow on his leash, carrying a couple of paper bags and trailed by a chubby boy with curly dark hair.

“Who is that?” the boy asked Anna, peering at Elsa from behind his black-framed glasses.

“This is Elsa.”  

The boy scurried over to Elsa and threw his arms around her.  “Hi, I’m Olaf, and I like warm hugs!”

“Urk!” Elsa stiffened as her breath rushed out of her, her arms trapped against her sides.  She flapped her hands helplessly, clueless as to how to react to the pubescent boy whose head was buried in her shoulder.

“Um…hi?” she squeaked out.  She threw a desperate look at Anna, who had a hand over her mouth.   Marshmallow made a chuffing sound that sounded suspiciously like a doggy laugh.   _Et tu, Marshmallow?_

Finally Anna cleared her throat.  “Olaf.” She walked over and tugged on the boy’s t-shirt.  “Olaf, didn’t we talk about this?”

Olaf released Elsa so quickly that she almost fell over.  “Yes,” he said in a small voice.

“And what did we say?’

Olaf studied the floor, scuffing the toe of his sneaker back and forth.  “That not everyone likes warm hugs and that I should ask first.”

“That’s right.  And what should you do now?”

Olaf pushed his glasses up his nose and furrowed his brows.  “Say I’m sorry?”

“To who?”

“Her?”

“She has a name.”

Olaf looked at Elsa, his coal-dark eyes wide and watery.  “I’m sorry, Elsa,” he whispered.

 _Aww_ … He was oddly endearing.  “It’s all right. You just startled me, that’s all.”  She leaned forward, thinking she might hug him, but caught herself, and ended up giving him an awkward pat on the shoulder instead.

Olaf favored her with a buck-toothed smile.  “She’s nice,” he said to Anna in a loud whisper.  “And pretty. She should be your girlfriend.”

Elsa’s mouth dropped open, eyes darting between Anna and Olaf.  “I – her – what?” she sputtered.

Anna laughed.  She let her gaze travel up and down Elsa’s frame, her eyes widening perceptibly. Elsa felt heat explode across her face, suddenly aware of how _snug_ the yoga pants really were.  She felt a strange flutter in her belly.

_She’s messing with me again, she has to be._

“Yeah, maybe she should be,” Anna was saying to Olaf.  “We’re just friends, though.”

 _Not even that_ , Elsa thought. But maybe they could be?  It was a strangely appealing thought.  Maybe in another life, one that didn’t include corruption, murder and flight from the authorities.

“She’d be a lot better than _him_ ,” Olaf said, studying the floor again.

Anna’s face darkened.  “Can’t disagree with you there, honey.”  She ruffled the boy’s hair. “Let me get Marshmallow’s stuff for you.”  

Anna gathered up Marshmallow’s food and water bowls, a big plastic bag of dog food, along with several balls and chew toys.  She put everything in a tote bag and gave it to Olaf.

“I need to talk to Elsa, so I’ll bring him down there in a bit,” she told Olaf.  “I’m only going to be gone for a few days. You’re sure it’s okay with your mom?”

“Yeah.  She likes Marshmallow too.”  Olaf pushed his glasses up. “Can we play Warcraft when you get back?”

“Only if you’re done with the next part of your project,” Anna said sternly as she walked him to the door.

“I will be,” Olaf promised.  “Bye!” He trundled out of the apartment.

“Here,” Anna said, indicating the paper bag she had dropped on the table.  “I picked up some breakfast.” She went to the kitchen and poured herself a mug of coffee before returning to the table.  “Hope you like sweets,” she said, pulling an array of pastries from the bag.

Elsa took her coffee to the table.  Anna wasn’t kidding about the sweets.  She picked out a chocolate-filled puff.  

“I’m sorry about Olaf,” Anna said.  “He’s a really sweet kid, but he’s clueless about what’s appropriate.  Pretty much a complete social moron.”

“Shouldn’t he be at school today?”  

“Nope, he graduated secondary back in the spring.”

“Really?  How old is he?”

“Thirteen.  He’s a genius, at least in matters academic.”  Anna took a bite of something jelly-filled.  A purple blob squirted onto the table, and wiped it with her napkin.  “Probably why he struggles with the whole people thing. He’s trying to get into Tech’s robotics program.  He’s pretty young, but there’s a lot of people like him over there. Social disasters, I mean.”

Well, that sounded familiar.  No wonder Elsa found him endearing.  “At least he’s not afraid to touch people,” she muttered into her mug.  Anna cocked an eyebrow at her. _Did I say that out loud?_

“No, he isn’t,” Anna said.  “He loves to hug people and be hugged, and he has no concept of personal space.  I’m trying to help him learn so he won’t be creepy when he gets older.”

“Good idea.”  Elsa shuddered at the thought.  She had plenty of experience with men who either had no concept of personal space, or chose to ignore it.  “Why did he say that about me…being your…your…um…girlfriend?”

“Oh, that…”  Anna let out a little snicker, then studied her coffee.  “My ex is a real asshole. Took me a while to realize it.  Or maybe I didn’t want to realize it, I don't know.  He was so gorgeous and charming and attentive, and always knew the right thing to say.  Marshmallow didn’t like him, and he was cruel to Olaf, but I guess I chose not to see it. Not until I caught him with another woman.”

She met Elsa’s eyes.  “Olaf just wants people to be happy.  He’s pretty perceptive about feelings, but…really…innocent about them.  You were nice to him, so he thinks you’ll be nice to me. Therefore we should be together.”

Elsa felt that weird flutter in her stomach again.  

Anna downed the last bite of her jellyroll, then gave her a wicked grin.  “And you do look pretty hot in those yoga pants.”

Elsa almost choked on her pastry while Anna laughed.   _She’s definitely messing with me_.  

“What about you?” Anna asked, serious now.  “Any crazy exes – male or female – that we need to worry about looking for you?”

With a little twinge, Elsa realized that the only person who would miss her was Agdar.   _Maybe_.  She wasn’t about to tell Anna that she had never been in a relationship.  Oh, she’d been on a few dates, usually disastrous dinners that lapsed into awkward silences well before dessert.   There had been one in particular, with a handsome businessman that she desperately wanted to impress. But once the conversation veered away from work, she had nothing to say.  She just couldn’t…connect. Never had been able to connect.

Except with a certain freckle-faced boy with sea-blue eyes, who had swept her away on a banana-seat bicycle when she was seven years old.  Elsa wasn’t sure that really counted, even if it was the best summer of her life.

Before the tutors and the isolation.  Before Mama got sick. When Papa was still there, physically and emotionally.

“No,” she mumbled.  “No crazy exes.”

“Okay, good, hopefully that will make things less complicated.”  Anna retrieved the other bag she’d brought in and took two phones out of it.  She pushed one across the table. “Here. I’ve already put this number in it.”

“I have a phone,” Elsa said.

“Turn it off.  We’re going to use these.”

“Why?”

“They’re burners.  No way to track them,” Anna explained.  “The NPs have your phone number, right?”

“Yes,” Elsa said warily.  Every agent on Kristoff’s team had her number.

“Turn it off.  Don’t make any calls on it, no texts, no email, no nothing.  They’ll be looking for it. I bet they want you pretty bad right now, as a material witness if nothing else.”

Elsa swallowed hard.  She grabbed her purse and shut off her phone.  “Do you think they’ve tracked it already?”

“Probably not.  I think they need a court order first, and unless they hauled a judge out of bed last night, I doubt they have one.  They’ll get one as soon as they can, though.”

Elsa stared at her phone like it might strike out and bite her.  She’d read about privacy problems with mobile phones, but it had all seemed so abstract. Well, it was all too real now.  She wondered if the NPs could track her phone when it was powered off, like the odious American NSA. She had a sudden urge to smash it, the way Anna had with Persie Norberg’s.

But the phone also seemed like the only connection to the life she had.  

As if reading her thoughts, Anna said, “It might be only temporary, depending on what you decide to do.”

“Right,” Elsa said.  Marshmallow butted against her hand.  She stroked his big head, his silky fur soothing between her fingers.  “So…Marshmallow is all taken care of?”

“Yeah, it’s all set.  Olaf will look after him until I get back.”  Anna checked her new phone. “The bank will open soon.  We’ll go there, and then we can take off. How are we getting to the place in the mountains?”

“The fastest way is to fly,” Elsa said. “There’s a small commuter plane that shuttles between here and the airfield at Gjoheim. There’s a tram from there.”

“Anything else you need to do before we go?”

“Call the caretaker.  Make sure the water and power are on, things of that nature.”

“Make sure you use the burner.  I’m going to take Marshmallow down to Olaf’s.  Stay away from the windows, okay?”

Elsa nodded.  Anna snapped the leash back on Marshmallow and they disappeared through the door.  Elsa picked up her new phone and turned it on. There was only one number programmed into it, which she presumed was the one for Anna’s burner.  Dialing from memory, she called the man who looked after her mountain home when she wasn’t there. He assured her that he would have everything taken care of and would pick them up at the airfield.

“You call me when you land, dear, I’ll come right over, yah?  That way you don’t have to get on the tram.”

“Thank you, Oaken.”

The house taken care of, Elsa picked up her coffee and wandered around Anna’s apartment.  The place seemed like a curious cross between a teenager’s room and an adult’s home.  Video games and DVDs competed for space with books ranging from romance novels to tomes on history and law. In what should have been the dining area, Elsa found a home gym.  There was a free-standing strike bag, a speed bag, medicine balls and an assortment of dumbbells and kettlebells. A pair of boxing gloves and a roll of tape lay on a small table next to a water bottle.

Elsa punched idly at the heavy bag and winced at the instant throb in her hand and wrist.  She tried to imagine the slender Anna pounding away at the bag. Physically, it seemed so unlikely, but Elsa had no doubt that the younger woman was capable of violence.  Beyond Anna’s actions at the cabin, Elsa had seen a few flashes of what could be a nasty temper.

Continuing her exploration, Elsa went into the bedroom, taking in details she’d missed earlier.   Laundry spilled out of the hamper, and paperbacks littered the nightstand. Several framed photos stood on the dresser.   There was one of a young Anna, pig-tailed and freckle-faced, grinning snaggle-toothed from between a young couple. Clearly her parents - Anna had her father’s red hair and freckles, and her mother’s sea-blue eyes.  Other photos showed Anna and Olaf at what appeared to be Olaf’s graduation, and Anna in Army fatigues, a rifle slung over one shoulder, laughing with a group of other soldiers. So she’d done her compulsory service in the military.  That was probably where she learned to shoot.

She wondered if Anna slept with the pistol under her pillow.

Leaving the bedroom, Elsa opened the door to the room next to it.  She turned on the light and looked around, surprised. A desk, file cabinet, a sophisticated phone system and shelves filled with books and manuals stood against the back wall.  A framed portrait of Joan of Arc hung above the desk. A table to the right held some kind of half-built electronic device and an array of small tools.

On the desk were a laptop computer, a printer, and several neatly arranged file folders.  Apparently Anna’s spare bedroom also served as her office. Elsa glanced over her shoulder, then went to the desk. If this was Anna’s office, maybe the file on her was here.  She sifted through the papers on the desk and in the file cabinet. Unlike the rest of the apartment, the office was neat and organized. Anna had a fair number of clients, mostly businesses and law firms.

The sudden ringing of the phone made Elsa almost jump out of her skin.  One hand on her chest, she stepped closer to it. The phone had a recording system, and the caller ID displayed the number on the LCD at the base.  Elsa recognized the prefix as the one for Sornland. Anna’s voice came on, instructing the caller to leave a message.

Elsa froze when the person started talking, her heart stuttering in her chest.

“Where is Elsa Kjarensen?” demanded the voice of Agdar Erikksen.

Agdar sounded very stressed, his voice hoarse as he fired questions into the recorder.  Where was Elsa? What had Anna found out? He wanted answers and he wanted them right now.  He left a phone number that Elsa didn’t recognize, then hung up.

Elsa stood transfixed for a full minute, arms wrapped protectively around herself, her mind swirling with anguish and betrayal.   _Agdar hired Anna_.  Why?  Had he suspected that she’d gone to the NPs?  She backed slowly away from the desk, then turned to flee.

And stopped short, a cry dying in her throat as she stared into Anna’s angry sea-blue eyes.


	11. Leap, Don't Look

Agdar hung up the phone and looked warily around at the other people in the station.  He wondered who it was.  The man in the business suit, pacing with a cell phone glued to his ear? He had been on the train from Arendelle City.  The university-age girl with the pink hair and multiple piercings?  She’d been on his train too.

It could be anyone. Weselton seemed to have eyes everywhere. Like a toxic mist, you never even saw it coming.  It was just on you, all of a sudden, with no warning.  Agdar tried not to be overwhelmed by dread and hopelessness.

He had taken a huge risk in calling Anna Aarndahl directly, even from a pay phone, but he was running out of options.  His biggest fear, the one that had haunted him from the day that the little troll had announced that Agdar now belonged to him, was that Weselton would try to involve Elsa in his scheme.  Or worse, that he would suddenly decide that she was a liability and had to be eliminated. Agdar had pushed Elsa away, but he would never abandon her.  He had to make sure that she was protected.

That was why he had hired Anna Aarndahl to follow her.  He had actually done what Anna had sarcastically suggested to Elsa the night before – he had Googled ‘private investigators’ and contacted Aarndahl Investigations, the first one that came up in the results list.  It had been the simplest thing he could think of.  He hadn’t even known that ‘A. Aarndahl’ was a woman until after he’d hired her.

But he’d discreetly checked her out and found that she had a good reputation among the lawyers and businesses that had used her before.  The one report she’d filed so far had been detailed, with care taken to distinguish her speculations from her actual observations.  And he comforted himself with the knowledge that Weselton’s men would probably be far less suspicious of a young woman than a man.

He briefly considered returning to the ticket counter and purchasing a one-way ticket out of the country. He could get directly to Oslo from here, without going back through Arendelle City.  He had a numbered account in Switzerland with enough to keep him in relative comfort for the rest of his life, regardless of where he settled.

A beautiful idea.  One easy to fantasize about, but much more difficult to execute.

He envisioned trying to escape.  He would get on the train, and a nameless army of suited men would swoop down on him, leading him off to some dismal place where Weselton would tell him, in that nasally voice of his, that usefulness was at an end.  In the worst of his imaginings, Elsa would be there too, and Weselton would have her killed before his very eyes. 

Or worse, let Westergard have her first.

He’d spent the previous (sleepless) night digging up everything he could about the thirteenth son of Heinrich Westergard, president and largest shareholder of SI Shipping and Trading.  The young man was squeaky-clean on the surface, but if half the circulating underground rumors were true…

In the end, Agdar did the only thing that he could do.  He left the station and climbed into a cab that whisked him off to see the councilor from Sornland, where he would drive another nail into Lars Brunsvold’s coffin. A nail driven with the hammers of a charming smile, backslapping manner and the Infernal Briefcase.  A surveillance van would follow Agdar, picking up on every sound uttered during his conversation with the councilor.  A simple twist of the briefcase’s handle, and there would be enough audio and video to send Brunsvold away for longer than his expected remaining lifespan.

Agdar ran his hands through his hair.  There had to be a way out.  He just hadn’t found it yet.

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t the pacing businessman, or the pink-haired girl with the piercings.  The man seated in one of the hard plastic chairs across from the bank of pay phones was clean-cut, mid-thirties, dressed in casual slacks and a sport coat.  He wore a Bluetooth earpiece and tapped on a laptop computer, like so many other travelers. His lips moved, his hand occasionally pressing to the earpiece, as though he was having trouble hearing his caller.  His eyes darted after Agdar when he hung up the pay phone and left the station.

What appeared to be an infrared port on the back of the man’s laptop was in fact a sensor designed to pluck electronic signals out of the air.  Much in the same manner that Anna had gotten the alarm code at the cabin, the sensor snagged the number that Agdar has just called and displayed it at the bottom corner of his screen.  The mobile wireless card protruding from the back of the laptop was actually a sensitive microphone that picked up Agdar’s voice and transmitted it to the man’s earpiece. It came across a little garbled from the ambient conversations going on around him, but one phrase came through clearly:

“Where is Elsa Kjarensen?”

The man relayed the phone number and other information back to his contact.  Within minutes, a request went to a particular individual at the phone company, who produced the name of the account holder.  Minutes after that, a team was dispatched to Anna Aarndahl’s address, with instructions to “deal with” Elsa Kjarensen and anyone who might be with her.

 

* * *

 

“Anna!” Elsa squeaked out, wrapping her arms around herself.  “You startled me.”

Anna scowled as she stepped into the room.  “What are you doing in my office?”

“Nothing!  I was just wandering around, that’s all.  I didn’t even know you had your office here.”

“Because you didn’t have any business knowing that.  All my client information is here, and a lot of it is confidential.”  Anna stalked over to the desk, checking the folders with a critical eye.  She turned and glared.  “I really don’t like this, Elsa.”

“I’m sorry, I was just…killing time.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

Elsa didn’t know what to say to that.  She composed her features and met Anna’s eyes, trying to keep her gaze away from the phone.  Anna must not have heard Agdar’s message.

 _Agdar hired Anna to follow me_. Had Anna killed Persie Norberg? Would she kill Elsa as well, maybe dump her body in the fjord?  Maybe she would wait until after they visited the bank, when she would get her hands on several thousand kroners in cash, and a new ID and credit card to boot?  Elsa’s mind spiraled, threatening to flee to the land of irrational thoughts.

“Come on, let’s finish getting ready,” Anna said, stopping Elsa’s descent into the rabbit hole.  She turned to leave the office.  “There’s a spare backpack in my closet you can use.”

“I don’t need to pack. I have clothing at my other place.”

“Take the fucking backpack, Elsa.  It will look weird if you travel without some type of luggage.”  Anna gave her one last scowl and left the room.

Elsa trailed slowly after her, wondering if she was following Anna to her death.   But Anna could have killed her at any time between when they left the cabin until right now.  At the trailhead or the fjord, or in the alley a few blocks over.  Leaving her dead at the cabin would have been the easiest choice, as Anna herself had pointed out.

Yes, the cabin would have been the easiest option, save one thing:  Agdar probably wanted to know how much she had already told the NPs.  That would explain why Anna was so eager to get her to talk.  And once she did, Anna would eliminate her.

 _And here I am, getting ready to fly off to my mountain castle with my potential murderer in tow_.

She trudged into the bedroom. Digging through the closet, she located the spare backpack, then went through the charade of packing so that she could go along with Anna’s charade of protecting her.  Jeans and blouses that would never fit her were tossed into the bag, along with a toothbrush and other assorted travel-sized sundries that she managed to unearth from the disaster of a bathroom.

When she returned to the bedroom, Anna was on her hands and knees with her head in the closet.  Her shirttail had ridden up, and Elsa swallowed at the sight of the pistol butt protruding from the waistband of her jeans. She recalled the punching bags in the dining area, and fleetingly wondered if Anna would simply shoot her, or kill her with her bare hands.

Anna emerged from the closet with a hard-sided container and a box of ammunition.  She placed the container on the bed and loaded it with the ammunition and a couple of magazines.  Then she took her pistol from its holster.

“You can’t take a gun on a plane,” Elsa said, wringing her hands together.

Anna gave her a sidelong glance.  “No kidding? When did they start thatshit?”  She broke down her pistol and put into the box as well, along its waistband holster.  Then she slammed the container shut and locked it, stuffing the key into her jeans pocket.  “You cancarry a gun on a plane, if it’s unloaded and broken down and in an approved case.”  She patted the container.  “I’ll have to fill out a butt-ton of paperwork, and then they’ll stick it in the cargo hold, where it will be impossible for me to use it to skyjack the plane.”

“Thank you for the thoroughly sarcastic and condescending explanation,” Elsa said.

“I’m not stupid,” Anna snapped.

“I never said you were.”

“Right.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Elsa said, anxious to defuse Anna’s temper.

Anna put her hands on her hips and sighed.  “Fine.” She looked Elsa up and down, and Elsa tried not to squirm under her scrutiny.  “Are you gonna change clothes, or are you gonna travel in yoga pants?”

“I…um…nothing else fits.”

“What?”

Elsa felt her face heat up. Again. “You and I have different…um…” She made a curving motion with both hands.  “…builds.”

Anna’s gaze traveled over her again, and she barked out a laugh.  “Yes, we do.” She slung her backpack over her shoulder and picked up the gun container.  “You ready?”

“I suppose so.”  Elsa picked up her own pack and followed Anna into the den.

“Did you get in touch with - ?” Anna broke off when the doorbell buzzed.

Elsa started.  “Are you expecting someone?”

“No,” Anna said. 

Elsa was dumbfounded at the quickness of Anna’s reaction.  In less than thirty seconds, she had the container opened, the pistol reassembled, and a loaded magazine slammed into place.  She shoved the pistol into her waistband and stuffed the container into her backpack.  Hoisting the pack back onto her shoulder, she moved toward the front door.  “Let’s see who it is.”

Heart in her throat, Elsa followed Anna over to the video monitor by the front door. On the screen, they saw a man in a familiar brown uniform standing on the front porch of the building, a couple of boxes in his arms.  As they watched, he pressed the doorbell again.

“It’s just the delivery man,” Elsa said, letting out a sigh of relief.

Anna shook her head. She pressed a button on the monitor, which must have moved the camera, because the view changed, panning along the street in front of the house.  Elsa frowned. Something wasn’t right…

“Where’s his truck?” she asked, her fear roaring back.

“Good question.  And that’s not the guy who’s normally on this route.”

“Can we get out the back?”

“I’m sure it’s covered.”

“But there’s only one guy.”

“No, he’s the only one we can see.”

The doorbell buzzed again. Anna pressed the intercom button and the man identified himself, saying he had a package for her.

“Can you just drop it on the porch?” Anna asked.

“You have to sign for it, ma’am.”

“Okay.  Give me a couple of minutes, I just got out of the shower.”

Anna grabbed Elsa’s arm and propelled her out into the hallway, locking her apartment door behind her. There was a door across from Anna’s apartment, with no number on it.  In seconds Anna had that door open and shoved Elsa through it.  Then she pulled out her phone and punched in a number.

“Hey Olaf.”

“…You see him too?”

“…No, he’s not. I don’t think he’s a delivery guy at all.”

“…Listen, Olaf, I need you to do something for me.  Call the cops and tell them someone is breaking into my apartment, okay?  Then when I call you again, I want you to let that guy in.  When he gets to the top of the stairs, I want you to let Marshmallow out, okay?”

“…Yeah, I know what Marshmallow will do.  That’s why I want you to let him out.”

“…Yes.  Stay in your apartment and lock the door, you understand me? Don’t come out.  I’ll call you later.  Bye.”

Anna hung up and shoved the phone in her pocket.  “Let’s go.”

She led Elsa swiftly through the darkened apartment, into what looked like a back bedroom.  She opened another door and motioned Elsa inside. Elsa stepped in and bumped right into a wall.  Anna joined her and closed the door, leaving them in pitch-blackness.  The room was tiny; Elsa was mashed against the wall, with Anna pressed tightly against her.

“There’s a ladder here.” Anna’s whisper was right in her ear, making her jump.  Anna took her hand and guided it until Elsa felt the wooden rungs beneath her fingers. Anna kept whispering, “Start climbing. Take it slow and careful.  I’ll be right behind you.”

Elsa started climbing. In the tight space, she felt claustrophobic, and between her fear and the loss of her bearings in the absolute darkness, she was getting a bit queasy.  Good thing she hadn’t eaten much breakfast.

She moved her hands and feet slowly at first, then faster as she gained some confidence.  Then her foot missed a step and she slipped, clipping her chin on one of the rungs.  She bit off a painful squeak as one of Anna’s arms wrapped around her waist, holding her up. The slim girl was surprisingly strong.

“You okay?” Anna voice came in her ear.

“Yes,” Elsa managed. She steadied herself, ignoring the pain in her chin and the jangling in her nerves, and kept climbing, slower this time, until her head bumped the ceiling.

Anna moved up onto the same rung with her, with her legs straddling Elsa’s.  She pressed against Elsa’s back with increasing force.  Elsa wasn’t sure what the other woman was trying to do, and it was becoming harder to breathe with her chest squashed up against the ladder.  For a brief panicked moment, she was sure Anna had brought her in here to kill her. Then a shaft of light hit her from above and the pressure against her back was gone.

She heard Anna’s voice come from above her.  “Let him in, Olaf.”  Then her face appeared in the trap door above Elsa.  “Come on,” she beckoned.

Elsa climbed into the attic of the apartment house.  Wide wooden rafters with thick pink insulation between them ran the length of the long space.  Elsa followed Anna, who hopped from rafter to rafter until she reached the end of the building.  Then Anna forced open what looked like a round vent cover and shimmied through it.

Elsa followed, her eyes widening as she realized that the vent hole led out to a tiny railing. Anna balanced precariously on the railing and boosted herself onto the pitched roof. 

“Are you crazy?” Elsa hissed.

“It’s less crazy than staying here to get killed,” Anna retorted.  “Here.” She extended her hand.

Elsa ignored it and climbed out onto the railing.  She shot a quick glance at the cobblestones four stories below.  Then she placed her hands up on the roof and with a little hop, clambered up beside Anna.  “Now what?”

“Follow me.”

Anna made her way toward the edge of the roof.  When she got within a few feet, she took a couple of quick strides and launched herself onto the roof of the neighboring house.

 _Oh my God, she really is_   _crazy_.  Elsa took a closer look at the gap between the houses.  With the overhang of the eaves, the roofs were only about three or four feet apart.  Still…

“Come _on_!” Anna said.  “We need to get moving!”

The sudden eruption of Marshmallow’s barking spurred Elsa on.  She took a big step and leaped across the gap, landing on the edge of the other roof.  She teetered for a moment on the steep slope, then threw herself forward onto the slate shingles.  They scrambled over the peak of the roof and down the other side. Marshmallow’s barking deteriorated into vicious snarling.  A man’s sharp cry of pain reached their ears, and then they heard shouts from the street.

“Marshmallow is buying us time,” Anna said.  “Hopefully Olaf already called the cops.”

“Where do we go from here?” Elsa asked.

“Two more blocks over.”

They hopped several more gaps and then down onto the flat roof of an auto repair shop.  They scrambled down a maintenance ladder to the sidewalk, and ran through a back alley out onto a residential street lined with cars.  There was a park in the middle of the block, and Elsa heard the repetitive _thwop_ of a tennis ball being hit.  She could make out the tennis court between the trees of the park.

Anna looked up and down the street at the line of cars along the curb.  Then she trotted into the park area and picked up a tennis ball, one of a dozen accumulated remnants of errant shots.  Elsa eyed her curiously as she pulled a multitool from her backpack and started working a hole in the ball.

“What are you doing?”

“Walk up the sidewalk and keep a lookout for me.”

“Why?”

“Please, Elsa, just do it.”

Elsa headed up the sidewalk, Anna paralleling her on the other side of the parked cars.  Finally, Anna stopped beside an older, but well-kept sedan. 

“Anybody watching us?” she asked.

Elsa took a quick look around and shook her head.

Anna put the tennis ball up against the lock on the driver-side door, the hole over the lock itself.  Then she rammed the heel of her hand into the tennis ball.  Elsa’s eyes widened in amazement as the locks on all four doors popped open.

“Whoa, how did you do that?!”

Anna jerked open the driver’s door and got in.  Elsa got in as well.  Anna stuck her head under the steering column, her hands feeling around.

“You can’t really hot-wire these cars, the technology - ” Elsa snapped her mouth shut when the engine roared to life.

Anna sat up, put the car in gear, and pulled away from the curb.  She looked at Elsa, blue-green eyes dancing.  “You were saying…?”

Elsa huffed.  “Okay, so how did you get the locks open with a tennis ball?”

Anna gave her a grin that could be only be described as _shit-eating_.  “I told you, I know a few tricks.”

Elsa rolled her eyes.  _And she’s back under my skin_.

 

* * *

 

Anna waited in the car, now parked across the street from the Old City branch of the Arendelle National Bank. Her eyes darted around the area, constantly scanning for anyone who might be taking unusual interest in her or Elsa, who had just disappeared through the front door of the bank.

Whoever was chasing Elsa had located them quickly.  Too quickly.  Too fast for it to be the NPs, who would have to get a warrant. And the NPs wouldn’t show up disguised as UPS delivery guys; they would flash their badges everywhere and come in with firepower and overwhelming force if they felt threatened.  No, the people at her apartment were not cops.  They had to be with whoever tried to kill Elsa last night.

The adrenaline rush from their narrow escape was gone, and Anna shivered in the driver’s seat.  If last night hadn’t been enough to convince her that Elsa was in deep shit, she was fucking well convinced now.  And now Anna was up to her neck in it with her.  _Fuckfuckfuck_ …

Anna put the sedan into gear and pulled away from the bank.  Maybe she could still salvage what was left of her life if she could get away from Elsa.  She could still go to the NPs, explain everything that had happened, and they could get Elsa into protective custody.  She could turn Elsa in, and maybe they would drop the thing with the cabin.

 _Yeah, no_. There was a dead agent involved, and that alone would ensure that the NPs gave Anna the flashlight-and-rubber-glove treatment for quite a long time.  _Oh, and now we can throw a stolen car into the stew as well_.

As she drove away from the bank, an image of Elsa’s frightened blue eyes rose in her mind, unbidden and unwelcome.  She would be arrested, more likely even killed, if Anna left her now.  She may have thought that she had planned for a clean escape, but she clearly had no idea what she was doing.  If Anna abandoned her, it was basically the same as pulling the trigger herself.

Anna found herself circling the block and easing back into the parking space she’d just left.

_Why? Why am I doing this?  What is it about this woman that keeps pulling me back?  I don’t owe her anything!_

Another thought formed before she could stop it:  _Because it’s your chance to do the right thing, for once in your life._

_And there’s just something about her…_

To top it off, she was scared about Marshmallow.  Was he back with Olaf?  What had happened after they fled?  Was Olaf all right?  He wasn’t exactly equipped to deal with those kinds of situations.  How could she have dragged him into this?  Had her thoughtlessness gotten him hurt? 

 _Do the right thing.  Yeah, that’s going really well_. Tears slid down her cheeks before she could stop them. 

The car’s passenger door opened.  Anna swiped quickly at her cheeks as Elsa slid into the seat next to her.  “Did you get everything you need?” she asked around the lump in her throat, not looking at Elsa. 

“Yes,” Elsa replied.  A pause.  Then, “Are you all right?”

 _No_.  “Yeah,” Anna said, her voice still thick.  She cleared her throat.  “As dumb as it sounds right now, I – I’m really worried about Marshmallow.”

“That doesn’t sound dumb,” Elsa said softly.

“It’s just…he’s always been…it’s just been us, for a while.”

“I don’t think they would’ve done anything to him, not with all those people around.”

“I’d like to think so. But Elsa, if those men would kill a person, do you think a dog stands a chance?”

Silence from the other seat. Then, in barely a whisper, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to do that for me.”

Still not looking at her, Anna wiped her sleeve across her nose and said, “Yeah, well, it’s done, and I think we have bigger things to worry about right now, don’t we?”

She sensed, rather than saw, Elsa’s answering nod.

“I guess the DVR wasn’t damaged.  Somebody must’ve ID’d me from the video.  Still, that was really fast…like, scary fast.”

Elsa let out a mirthless chuckle.  “If _you’re_ scared, at what level of terrified should _I_ be operating?”

Anna finally looked at her. “It would help if I knew everything that’s going on.  Then maybe I can be a little better prepared.”

Elsa gazed back at her for a moment, hesitant and wary.

Anna said, “Think of it as a kind of crazy trust exercise.”

Dropping her eyes, Elsa said, “When we get to the mountains.  We’ll talk about it when we get to the mountains.”

 


	12. Down to Business

Captain Chifu sat down behind Kristoff’s desk.  Despite Kristoff towering over him, he still managed to seem like he was sneering down his nose.  “Sit, Inspector,” he ordered, waving toward the chair that Kai had just vacated.

Kristoff felt a wave of intense dislike.  Chifu was the liaison between the Anti-Corruption Division and NP headquarters.  While he was not technically in Kristoff’s chain of command, his rank and position allowed him to pass judgment and make demands of Kristoff and the other agents, despite the fact that he had no investigative responsibilities himself.  He was a bureaucrat who had advanced by following the rules, taking no risks, and above all, making sure his own ass was always covered.  Kristoff slowly lowered himself onto the worn vinyl.

“I’ve spoken to Lieutenant Sinclair,” Chifu said, opening a notebook and poising his pen over it, “but I want to hear what you have to say about it.”

 No _I’m sorry about Persie Norberg_ or _How are you and your team doing?_   Kristoff eyed Chifu’s loose tie, longing to tighten it around his skinny neck until his eyes bugged out.  Instead he collected the thoughts buzzing around in his fatigued brain and relayed his version of the events at the cabin.

 When he finished, the only sound in the office was the pen scratching against the notepad.  Finally Chifu looked up, tapping his pen against the notebook.  “Obviously the targets know you’re onto them.”

 “It seems so, yeah.”

 “How far along is your investigation?  Not far, if I recall correctly, which of course I do.”

 “It’s not anywhere close to what we would need to go to the PA for an indictment, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

 “So…” Chifu twisted his scraggly mustache between a forefinger and thumb and regarded Kristoff with disdain, “one of your agents is dead and your only witness has disappeared.  Interesting.”

 Kristoff stiffened at his tone.  “Is there something you want to tell me, sir?”

 Chifu sniffed.  “Quite frankly, Inspector, there are a number of concerns.  I know that Sinclair has given you quite a lot of leeway in this case.  The use of the safe house, the video recording system.  It was all approved through the proper channels, but your handling of this case has hardly been by the book.”

 “But - ”

 “You are too inexperienced to have been put in charge of a case like this, even if you did manage to gain Kjarensen’s confidence. And how useful was her information anyway?  I think it’s likely that her trust in you is little more than misplaced desire.”

  _What the fuck?_   “You think Elsa did all this because she has a _crush_ on me?”

 Chifu’s mustache twitched.  “She’s a young woman, and women are not particularly noted for their sound judgment.”

 _How did this asswipe survive a conversation with Sinclair?_   “Elsa doesn’t do things that aren’t clearly and carefully thought out, sir.”

 Chifu regarded him like a specimen under a microscope.  “Perhaps that’s your lack of experience showing.”

 Kristoff bristled, but let that pass. “So what do you want me to do? Drop it?  This is a huge case.  The implications could run all the way to the Castle!”

 “Even if she is credible, what do you have without Kjarensen?  What proof?”

 “It’s there, sir,” Kristoff insisted.

 “Indeed?  What names has she given you besides Erikksen’s?”

 Kristoff deflated a bit.  Chifu was right – Elsa had not given them anything.  She was too savvy for that.  She was saving the good stuff until she had a deal.  “Nothing we can use.  Yet.

 “But we’ll get it,” he added hurriedly.  “She’s told us a lot about Erikssen’s operation.  These people work for him while in office, and then when they retire or quit, he arranges do-nothing jobs for them with huge salaries and lots of benefits.  Almost like a retirement program. No money changes hands while they’re in office.  It’s simple.  It’s amazing.  There’s no way Elsa could’ve made up the kind of detail she’s given us.”

“But can you prove it?”

 “We’re doing everything we can, sir.  I wanted Elsa to wear a wire for us, but she wasn’t ready for that yet, and I didn’t want to push her.  She’s not the kind of person who can be rushed.  I didn’t want to lose her confidence.  Then we’d have nothing.”

 Chifu glanced over his notes and then gave Kristoff an appraising stare.  “So, you have some nameless but very powerful people, who may or may not have lucrative plans for the future, or have nice post-government jobs waiting for them when they decide public service is no longer for them.  The question is, so what?  They lunch, they take meetings, they network, they call in favors and scratch each other’s backs.  It happens, here and in every other government in the world.”

 “It’s a lot more than that!”

 “Can you _prove_ it?  Can you trace the illegal activity?  Can you show how any legislation was manipulated, beyond the normal horse-trading that goes on in the Nasjonsting?”

 “Um…not exactly.”

 “I thought not.”

 Kristoff ground his teeth.  It was like trying to prove a negative.  How do you prove something didn’t happen?  Erikksen’s crooked councilors probably used tactics that were legitimate parts of everyday business in the Nasjonsting.  It was the _why_ , the motivation behind the maneuvering, that was illegal, not the _how_.  Like a fighter throwing a match because he’d been paid off.

 “These unknown companies that are going to supposedly employ these corrupt councilors?  Does Erikksen have stakes in any of them?  Does he own the controlling interest?  Is he a board member or a stockholder?  Is he a director?  Does he have ongoing business with them?  Did he put up the money?”

 “What is this, an interrogation?”

 “No, Inspector, these are the questions that you are going to get from defense attorneys.  These people will have the best ones money can buy.”  Chifu’s beady black eyes bored into him.  “And you’d do well to have answers for them.”

Kristoff shifted in his chair and looked at the floor. “So far, we haven’t found anything that directly links Erikksen to any of it.”

 “That’s what I thought.  So what, exactly, are you basing your conclusions on?”

 Kristoff crossed his arms over his chest.  His hand brushed against the pistol in his shoulder holster.  For a brief second, he had to fight the urge to draw it and shoot Chifu, to silence his nasally voice, if nothing else.

 “Oh, don’t tell me, let me guess,” Chifu went on. “The word of your missing woman, Elsa Kjarensen.”

 “She’s not ‘my woman,’ she’s a witness,” Kristoff ground out.  “And we’ll find her.”

 “And if you don’t?”

 “Then we’ll get the evidence another way.”

 “How, pray tell?  Can you identify the corrupt councilors without her?”

Kristoff wanted to say yes in the worst way, but he couldn’t.  Erikksen had been part of the political landscape for years.  He probably knew, took lunch, and had dealings with every bureaucrat and politician in Arendelle City.  It would be impossible to root out the people he’d been bribing without Elsa’s help.

“We’ll find a way,” he said.  “The evidence is there, we just have to keep digging.”

Chifu was scribbling in his notebook again.  “Your time for digging is limited, Inspector,” he said, pointing his pen at Kristoff.  “You’re not investigating a village school council.  With targets of this magnitude, you must tread very lightly, and even then, it will be impossible to keep it completely secret.  And now throw in the complication of a homicide investigation.”

 “You think there will be leaks,” Kristoff said.  He wondered if the captain suspected that there had already been leaks.

 “I _know_ there will be leaks,” Chifu said.  “It is inevitable in any investigation targeting such important people. You must be sure of your case before the leaks occur.  You cannot investigate public officials based on rumors and innuendos.”

Kristoff curled his fingers into his already-rumpled slacks.  “What do you suggest I do, Captain?”

“Find Kjarensen.  And do it quickly.  VCID is handling Agent Norberg’s homicide.  They will keep you informed.  Since the cases are related, I suggest you cooperate with them.”

“I can’t tell them anything about my case,” Kristoff protested.

“You don’t have to.  Just help them clear Norberg’s murder.  And find Kjarensen.”

“And if we can’t?  What happens to my investigation?”

“I can’t say at this time.  The tea leaves are hard to read right now.”

_In other words, success means you get credit.  Failure means I spend my career investigating parking meter fraud._

 Chifu closed his notebook and stood.  He circled the desk and stood over Kristoff. “We’re handling the media from Headquarters.  It goes without saying that you are not to speak to the press.”

 Kristoff saw red.  He stood up slowly, locking eyes with the miserable pissant as he brought himself to his full height, looming over the scrawny captain.  “Do you really think I would talk to reportersabout this?” he growled.

 Chifu’s eyes widened as he stared up at Kristoff. He backed off a few steps and clasped his notebook against his chest.  “See that you don’t,” he said, and Kristoff could hear a quaver in his voice. “We already have inquiries.  For now, the story is that an agent was killed during an undercover operation.  No other details, including his name.  But that won’t last long.  The dam will eventually burst, and I’m sure you don’t want to get wet.”

 Chifu scurried out of the office before Kristoff could react.

 _Yeah, run, you scraggy little rat._   He wondered, not for the first time, how the NPs managed to function at all with sneaky little shits like Chifu working there.

_God, I hate people._

 


	13. Hans of the Southern Isles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains sexual content - NSFW

Hans Westergard ended the call and tossed the phone onto his desk. Disturbed, he paced his study like a restless animal.  He considered himself a patient man, but this whole Kjarensen situation was pushing his limits.  It should have been resolved by now, and not keep dragging out like some third-rate action movie. 

His men had gotten to the apartment quickly enough, but found it empty. Someone had become suspicious of their presence and called the police.  And to top it all off, one of his men had been attacked by the huge white dog, his arm severely mauled. But they’d found the phone message from Erikksen, playing it back for Hans over the phone before deleting it.

“So you hired a private detective, did you, Erikkssen?” Hans muttered.  “Not a smart move.  Not at all.  You’ll pay for that.  And so will she.”

The police that responded to the call had backed down quickly in the face of the official-looking IDs that his men had flashed.  Hans congratulated himself for his foresight in obtaining the badges.  They were worth every skilling he’d spent for them.  The local precinct officers had been sent away with instructions to never discuss what they had seen.  But still, it was one more factor he had to bear in mind.  One more little piece that wasn’t quite under control.

He wandered over to the French windows.  SI Shipping and Trading maintained the waterfront home for the managing agent of Westergard Export Brokers.  It was spacious and elegant, but Hans had his eye on a much more spectacular residence.  He pulled aside the drapes and gazed across the fjord at Arendelle Castle.  The gray overcast of the early morning was starting to dissipate, and it looked as though it might turn out to be a spectacular fall day.  Hans shivered a little; the weather here was not entirely to his liking.  Arendelle was cooler and wetter than his native home in the Southern Isles, and he found the winters long and brutal.  But it was a beautiful country, with its postcard-perfect fjord, towering snowcapped mountains, and towns and cities that seemed to have been created straight from travel brochures.

A country worthy of a ruler like Hans.

He was so close he could taste it. 

But the last twenty-four hours had seen one fuck-up after another.  Fritz Schlager had killed a National Police agent, but the real target had escaped.  And Schlager had gotten himself shot, taking a bullet to his right arm that had left the limb paralyzed from the elbow down.  Nerve damage, most likely. 

_Weselton should have him put down_.  Not only had Tweedledum botched the job – an unforgivable sin in Hans’ eyes – but he was also now a liability.  A shooter who could no longer shoot, a hired hand with a crippled arm.  Useless. Such a man couldn’t simply be fired. He knew too much.

Trying to stem his rising anger, Hans turned his thoughts to other concerns. The private investigator that Erikksen had employed was most likely the woman that Tweedledum had seen at the cabin. The description certainly matched. Despite his anger, Hans had to laugh at the serendipity of Anna Aarndahl being hired to follow Kjarensen.

He’d ordered a dig into Aarndahl’s background, but doubted it would uncover anything he didn’t already know.  An enticing woman, Anna.  Not a beauty on par with, say, Elsa Kjarensen, but she was pretty, with a lively, if somewhat childish charm.  Too bad things had ended the way they had.  But she had become too clinging, too demanding, too quickly.

_Seriously, who wants to move in together a few weeks after you meet?_

And she’d hardly make a suitable queen.

Hans knew little of Anna’s investigative pursuits, but honestly he hadn’t been that interested in her job anyway.  It seemed she was cleverer than he gave her credit for.  She had given his men the slip, and presumably she had helped Kjarensen escape from the cabin.  It was possible that she was the one who shot Tweedledum.  Hans knew that Anna belonged to a shooting club and often went about armed, but he had laughed that off as the affectation of a woman trying to do a man’s job.  Or perhaps that of an abandoned child, trying to appear tough.

Apparently Anna had not reported in to Erikksen about the previous night’s events, which was probably why Erikksen had left the message. So Erikksen still did not have the entire story of what happened at the cabin.  It was probably best to keep it that way.

 So Anna was on the run with Kjarensen.  The question was, how would they run?  Trains?  Planes? Automobiles?  Some combination thereof?  He already had men covering the airport and train stations.  But the NPs would be covering those places as well. And the two women could easily rent a car and drive to a train or bus station in another city, or just drive on over the border into Norway.   Hans’ influence didn’t extend to the border police – yet.

 A chase looked problematic at best.  There were too many variables, and Hans’ available manpower, while mostly reliable, wasn’t unlimited.  These men weren’t officially employees of Westergard Export Brokers. He had so far been able to adjust his firm’s books enough to cover the funneling of money to his covert payroll, but too many tweaks to the general ledger would draw the attention of at least two, if not more, of his older brothers.  Any one of them would be delighted to inform the Old Man that Hans was cooking the books over in Arendelle.

 It would be the most attention his brothers had paid him in years.

 Brotherly love?  _Ha_.  In the Westergard clan, it was more like a dozen hawks circling the same prey.  Hans was ready to leave that behind.  Let his brothers fight over the division and control of SI Shipping and Trading.  He had a much bigger quarry in his sights. A conquest truly befitting the Westergard name.

 Hans pondered going to Weselton for more resources. The Weasel’s pockets were much deeper than his own.  But Weselton would want to provide men, not money.  Men who would be more focused on reporting on Hans’ activities than finding Kjarensen and Anna.

 No, the best option would not be to chase the women, but to lure them out, to make them come to him.  He would just need the right bait.  Kjarensen had no children, no parents, no husband or boyfriend. Anna…well, Anna had several potential weak points.  He would just have to give that some more thought.  It would be easy to get a discreet message to her when the time was right.

 Once Anna and Kjarensen were dealt with, he could remove Erikksen from the picture as well.  In the meantime, he would have the man watched carefully, in case he made contact with Kjarensen or Anna again after he returned from running Weselton’s errand in Sornland.

 Hans wondered if it might be time to shake loose from Weselton.  The partnership was going to fall apart anyway.  The Weasel was too focused on maintaining his status quo.  He wanted a Nasjonsting that he could control, and a king that would do his bidding.  Hans would present him with a _fait accompli_.  Weselton would accept or be a bystander when the _Traktat av Norge_ went into effect.

 Then the Weasel would learn that Hans did no one’s bidding but his own.

 Hans left the study and returned to his bedroom. One corner of his mouth turned up when he saw his current companion standing in front of the mirror in just her bra and slip, her dark auburn hair spilling down her back.  He felt himself stir as he let his gaze wander over her long slender legs.  When she pulled her blouse on, he slipped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her.

 “Morning,” he murmured, nuzzling behind her ear. 

 “Morning,” she said with a little shiver.  Their gazes met in the mirror and she gave him a little smile.  Her eyes fascinated him – they were an alluring shade of violet, and could flash from innocent to indecent in the space of a heartbeat.

 “Leaving already?’  He nipped at her earlobe and ran his fingertips over the soft skin of her belly, enjoying the slight quiver of her abs.

 “Mmmhmm.  I think I’m going to get to see that journal today.  The one I was telling you about.” 

 “Really?”  Hans rubbed his sideburns against her neck.

 “Mmmm….yes.  It’s not exactly ancient Greek philosophy, but it should be intriguing.  It’s been kept secret for so long.”  She started buttoning her blouse.  

 “You’ll have to tell me all about it tonight.”  His hands followed hers, undoing each button almost as soon as she fastened it.

 “Stop that,” she said, giving his hands a half-hearted smack.  “I’m trying to get ready for work.” 

 He spread her blouse open and cupped her over her bra, feeling her nipples harden under his touch.  “I don’t think you really want me to stop,” he said, grinning into her neck as he fondled her. 

 “Hans…” Her head fell back against his shoulder as one of his hands snaked under her slip, hiking it up around her hips.

 He let out a low chuckle when he felt the damp fabric between her thighs. “Oh, you definitely don’t want me to stop.”  Her hips jerked when he slipped his fingers under her panties and stroked them along her soaked folds. 

 She moaned.  Hans stilled his fingers at her entrance.  “Or do you? Want me to stop?” 

“She met his eyes in the mirror again, and this time her gaze was hungry. “No.”

Hans chuckled again.  “That’s what I thought.”  He thrust his fingers into her. 

She cried out and pushed back against him.  Hans eased her forward until she was supporting herself with her hands on either side of the mirror.  Then he untied his robe and pushed the crotch of her panties aside to bury himself in her. 

He snaked one arm around her waist to hold her steady as he pumped into her, watching her face in the mirror.  Her eyes fell shut and she bucked back against him, moaning.  His other hand slid to the apex of her thighs, and she whimpered sharply when his fingers found her clit.  Her knees buckled, and he lowered her to the floor, thrusting into her roughly.  He smiled as he watched their bodies move together in the mirror, enjoying the increasingly heated cries that echoed through his bedroom.

  _I just can’t wait to be King._


End file.
